


Tourniquets, Dry Cereal, and Sloppy First Kisses

by fennecfawkes



Series: First Things First [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 92 Percent Pre-Canon, Cereal, Excessive Banter, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Meet the Family, Schmoop, Unrepentant Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dry cereal’s the only snack I ever really had when I was a kid,” said Clint. Phil could tell Clint was forcing his casual tone, but he didn’t question it. “No matter how dirt poor we got, we could always scrape together enough change for the $2 giant-ass plastic bag of corn flakes.” He sat up and turned toward Phil. “I used some of my first paycheck from SHIELD to buy, like, six boxes of cereal, all the most colorful, sugary kinds I’d never gotten to eat. I opened all of them that day. The Lucky Charms were gone by the next morning.”</p><p>Pre-canon through chapter 12. Not my characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Childlike Indulgences

Once, about three months ago, Phil had been the agent in command of a botched mission in Bogota. (Later, Clint would comment that “Botched in Bogota” sounded like the name of a Charlie Chaplin movie, and Phil would smile in spite of how thoroughly fucked up the mission had been, because hearing Clint reference Chaplin—well, that’s all Phil’s doing.) Like all truly terrible missions, it looked easy from the outside: get to the bunker where AIM was illegally modifying SHIELD tech they’d lifted from the last strike team they, well, struck, retrieve the tech, maybe punch some bad guys in their faces, and get the hell out of Dodge. Of course, Fury had failed to mention in the mission briefing that there may be some human trafficking with a side of drug running involved, and this particular group—a guerilla offshoot of AIM, even more unhinged than the average AIM scientists—had a certain enthusiasm for weapons of all kinds. That’s how Phil ended up with Clint’s shirt serving as a crude tourniquet for multiple stab wounds to his leg. Phil promised to wash the shirt afterward; Clint waved his hand dismissively and told Phil he could keep it. It went missing from the bottom drawer of Phil’s dresser a week later. Two days after that, Clint handed Phil his framed shirt.

“Our first FUBAR mission,” Clint said fondly as Phil put it up in his office.

“Should I ask how you got into my apartment?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, sir,” said Clint.

.:.

Phil dwells on this—Bogota, and the tourniquet, and the souvenir that’s still hanging on the wall behind him—because he know's he's never been so comfortable with anyone as quickly as he is with Barton, to the point that he calls him “Clint” in mixed company and has simply gotten used to the stares. So what if Clint’s the only junior agent who gets that treatment? It’s only because he’s the best junior agent, a bit brash in his humor and prone to making flippant remarks on mission plans when he thinks he has a better idea, but he usually _does_ have a better idea, and he’s the best damn shot Phil’s ever seen, so it’s not like anyone really wants to argue with him. And there are other positive qualities there. He plays guitar but he doesn’t talk much about it, doesn’t want to be that guy, he says. He’s sharp. He’s funny. And he doesn’t make fun of Phil’s Captain America memorabilia or his love for silent films or the way he eats dry cereal when he doesn’t have the time or the energy to move from his desk.

Actually, the dry cereal thing, that was kind of weird. Phil tried not to focus on how it had first come up, but it was too curious a memory not to come back to him once in a while. Phil had been behind his desk, marking up Woo’s latest clusterfuck of a mission report, and Clint had taken up his post on Phil’s couch, feet extended over the armrest. He’d already been barefoot when he came in, God knows why, so Phil didn’t have to go through the well-worn routine of looking at Clint’s combat boots pointedly till Clint sighed and pulled them off without bothering to unlace them.

He hadn’t noticed it right away, but Clint was staring at the open box of Cookie Crisp. Phil scooped up a handful, using his opposite hand to shove the miniature cookies into his mouth one by one.

“You’re eating Cookie Crisp,” Clint said.

“No wonder we recruited you,” said Phil. “Such sharp eyes.”

“Ha, ha. How often do you eat dry cereal?”

“Entirely too often, according to the nutritionist in Medical.” Phil plucks another cookie out of the box and tosses it to Clint, who catches it, throws it high in the air, and catches it in his mouth. “Impressive.”

“Dry cereal’s the only snack I ever really had when I was a kid,” said Clint. Phil could tell Clint was forcing his casual tone, but he didn’t question it. “No matter how dirt poor we got, we could always scrape together enough change for the $2 giant-ass plastic bag of corn flakes.” He sat up and turned toward Phil. “I used some of my first paycheck from SHIELD to buy, like, six boxes of cereal, all the most colorful, sugary kinds I’d never gotten to eat. I opened all of them that day. The Lucky Charms were gone by the next morning.”

Phil didn’t really know how to respond, so he smiled and said, a bit flatly, “I don’t really go in for Lucky Charms. But it makes sense that it would be any kid’s favorite.”

“You calling me a kid, sir?” Clint raised one eyebrow, and Phil laughed. He didn’t do that much around the office, but for Clint, he made exceptions to many rules.

“I’ll allow your childlike indulgences if you help me finish this box,” said Phil. “Cookie Crisp was on sale. I don’t even like it that much.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Clint stood and walked over to Phil’s desk. As he picked up the box, he asked Phil if he minded.

“Mind what?”

Clint shrugged, lifted the box over his head, and shook a healthy—well, unhealthy, really—amount of cookies into his mouth. Phil tried, he really did, but he couldn’t hold back his laughter at the blatantly childish move.

“You said you wanted to get rid of it,” Clint said with a shrug. “Just doing my part, sir.”

“Phil,” Phil corrected him. “It’s—we’re friends. Just call me Phil.”

Clint’s face went a little pink. “Phil,” he repeated. “Sure. Right. Thanks for the cereal, Phil.” He saluted as he walked backwards out of the office. “I’m gonna go find my shoes.”


	2. Phil's Puppy

What makes that memory so curious—and it’s not like it happened so long ago, maybe three weeks, definitely three weeks, because he’d doodled some cookies on his desk calendar that day when Maria stopped in to talk at Phil about whether or not Sitwell was interested in her (and he was, but Phil believed that when two adults were interested in each other, they could figure that out themselves)—is that Clint had never mentioned his childhood before, and he hasn’t again since. It felt like it should’ve been a watershed moment, like after that, Clint should be opening up, revealing more heartbreaking details about his past, and Phil would stand up from his desk and walk over to the couch and pull Clint up by both hands and take Clint in his arms and—no. No, he wouldn’t do any of that, because Clint was still closed up tight, and really, Phil was just as bad as Maria and Jasper, because he sure wasn’t dealing with his stupid ... _thing_ about Clint like an adult.

So, here’s what Phil does know: Clint’s upbringing was one Clint doesn’t feel is worth discussing. Clint’s family had been poor, poor enough that $2 corn flakes were something to celebrate. And at some point, Clint severed ties with them, became a mercenary, and reformed when Phil found him sleeping in an alleyway in Budapest. This is literally all he knows about Clint Barton pre-SHIELD. And he’s desperate to know more. Which can only happen if they're better friends, and becoming better friends is going to require some effort on Phil's part.

So, knowing Christmas is right around the corner, he goes to Sharon’s office with a Three Musketeers bar and his brightest smile. Before he even opens his mouth to speak, she says flatly, “No.”

“I haven’t even said anything,” says Phil, sitting on Sharon’s couch. It’s not as comfy as his, but it’s close, and it has a handmade afghan draped over it, which can’t be said about his, although Clint has left his threadbare purple monstrosity there once or twice.

“No, I can’t rig Secret Santa so you get your favorite sniper’s name.”

“He’s not—”

“I know, I know, you’re not dating, he just happens to hang around your office like a puppy begging for treats and positive reinforcement.” Sharon cocks her head to the side and adds, “He’s a very cute puppy, to be fair to you.”

“How much have you been talking to Maria?”

“A fair amount.”

“And this has come up?”

“Well, yeah, it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than anything either of us has going, Phil,” she says. “Maria’s got her whole weird Sitwell thing—”

“It _is_ weird. I told her that.”

“And I haven’t been out with anyone for, shit, six months?”

“That’s not that long a dry spell, Sharon,” says Phil. “I don’t think I’ve been in a date in that many years.”

“Not for lack of trying on the part of SHIELD’s finest,” Sharon says. “Claire says hi, by the way.”

“Claire. Do I know a Claire?”

Sharon rolls her eyes. “Claire Wise? Espionage? Young, adorable, apprenticed to Blake?”

“Ah. Claire.”

“You have no idea who I’m talking about, do you?”

“None,” Phil admits. “OK, you’ve made your point. Young, impressionable baby agents have a thing for authority. Need I remind you that Pollack’s asked you out no less than three times?”

“You remember Pollack but not Claire?”

“Pollack’s got a nice ass.”

Sharon makes a noise that’s somewhere between a giggle and a snort. “If only the baby agents knew the way you talk about them. The whole competency kink would fly right out the window.”

“Nah, they’d just transfer it to someone else,” says Phil. “Maria, maybe. Or Sitwell, apparently that’s a thing.”

“Apparently.”

“So that’s a no on letting me be Clint’s Secret Santa, then?” Phil holds up the Three Musketeers bar. “I’m not above bribery.”

“You know you’re not leaving this office with that no matter what I say,” says Sharon. “And I can’t let you cheat. Can’t you just get Barton a gift anyway? You are friends, right?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be out of the question.”

“If only that kid knew how you pine over him.” Sharon shakes her head. “He wouldn’t have to keep being so subtle with his never leaving your side and laughing at all your non-jokes.”

Phil stands and tosses the candy bar on Sharon’s desk. “Clint doesn’t feel that way about me, Sharon.”

“You just keep telling yourself that!” she calls after him as he walks away.


	3. Tell Me Something Good

Because life isn’t fair, Phil draws Jimmy Woo’s name in Secret Santa. Because life has a way of correcting itself, Secret Santa gets canceled when Phil, Clint, Carter, and Natasha Romanov—a relatively new agent they’ve been tracking for years who Clint apparently helped retrieve—are shipped out to Edinburgh.

From what Phil can gauge, there is no immediate threat present in Edinburgh. Supposedly, Roxxon is engineering something sinister—killer LMDs, maybe, no one’s sure—in the basement of a bar called the Three Sisters. So far, in three days of extensive research (or, if Phil’s being honest, borderline excessive drinking), they’ve seen nothing to back up that claim. But Phil’s comfortable with that. Edinburgh’s beautiful in its own way, and Clint gets pretty handsy when he’s been drinking. Sharon’s been quick to point out that Phil’s the only one he’s being handsy with, even though Clint and Romanov seem to have some kind of sacred assassin bond. That doesn’t extend to physical contact, and since Clint’s been leaning against Phil and slinging his arm around Phil and putting his hand on Phil’s knee for days, Phil is more than comfortable with the situation.

“I was kind of looking forward to the whole Secret Santa thing,” Clint says their fourth day, when they’re driving their rental Jetta to the Highlands. Roxxon has a presence at the distillery in Loch Lomond, or so Sharon said when she practically pushed Phil out the safehouse's door that morning.

“Yeah?” Phil gets behind the wheel and Clint sits down next to him. Clint’s still wearing the coat that Phil lent him weeks before when they were going out to lunch and Clint didn’t want to go all the way back to his office for his own. (His office is five doors down from Phil’s, which Phil decided not to mention at the time.) It’s a nice coat—vintage, wool, black, with two lines of buttons down the front. Before Phil’s parents had become snowbirds and started spending most of their winters in Florida, his father had given Phil most of his cold-weather clothing, and Phil had always resented that his father was just a bit too bulky for the coat to fit him right. It fits Clint like a glove, though, so maybe Phil doesn’t resent his father quite as much anymore.

“Yeah, I had big plans for Hill,” says Clint.

“Well, I had no plans for Woo,” Phil says. “Would’ve had some ideas if it were you or Sharon or Maria, but Woo has no discernible personality, so I may have run into some problems there.”

“What would you have gotten me?”

“Still might.” Phil fiddles with the radio. “Want to find something to listen to?”

Clint pulls a jewel case out of his coat pocket. “Made this in case ... I don’t know, apparently in case we took a day off to go see some lochs.” He opens the case and slides the CD—painstakingly decorated with Sharpie—into the car’s stereo console. “Does this seem almost too easy to you?”

“Are you complaining?” Phil asks as a kicky, Irish-sounding punk song comes on. “Also, I’m pretty sure you went with the wrong country.”

“It’s the Dropkick Murphys, Phil,” says Clint. “They transcend British Isles borders.” He stretches his legs, dropping his feet on the dashboard.

“If this were my car, I’d slap you.”

“Good thing it’s not.” Clint looks out the window. “I think I could live here.”

“Yeah?”

“Apparently the weather’s a lot like the Midwest year round,” says Clint. “I’m from Iowa. I mean, not really, not anymore. I’m not from anywhere. When you move around the country as much as I have, you don’t really have a hometown anymore.”

“But you were born in Iowa?”

“Yup. Stayed till I was old enough to follow my brother to the circus.”

“The circus?” Phil resists the urge to turn and look at Clint in disbelief. He settles for raising his left eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Clint turns to look at Phil. “Do you seriously not know anything about me? What I did before SHIELD?”

“I seriously don’t know anything more than what you’ve explicitly told me,” says Phil. “Well, I’ve read your file. But it doesn’t really say anything about where you’re from or how you were trained.”

“By being thrown in front of crowds six nights a week, sometimes a couple times a day,” Clint says. “That’s where ‘Hawkeye’ comes from, actually. World’s Greatest Marksman, they called me. Should’ve been ‘Marksboy,’ really. I was about 13 when I started.” He pauses before adding, “My parents died when I was six. Barney—that’s my brother—he and I were in an orphanage before Carson’s came to town and we left with them.”

“You literally ran away and joined the circus. That’s something kids say they’re going to do when they’re mad at their parents.”

“My dad probably would’ve been OK with it. More booze money.” There’s an edge of bitterness in Clint’s tone. “But he hadn’t been around for a while by then. Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“If I’m ever an asshole when we’re drinking—and I haven’t gotten that drunk, not really, but, you know, if I do, and I’m an asshole, tell me to stop, OK? And no matter what I say to you, make me stop. No matter what.” Clint gazes out the window again. “I don’t want to be like him.”

“Of course I can do that, Clint,” says Phil. “But you’re not him. I hope you know that.”

“I try pretty hard not to be,” Clint says. “Anyway.” He turns to Phil and makes finger guns with his hands. “Tell me something good. Where’d you come from? What circus were you part of?”

Phil laughs. “The suburbs of Chicago, and no circus, just Army Rangers for a few years. That was after I decided I didn’t want to be a lawyer.”

“But Phillip Coulson, Attorney at Law sounds so good!”

“Regrettable, I know.”

“What was it like? The Rangers, I mean.”

“Terrifying,” says Phil. “Amazing. Still the most worthwhile thing I’ve done with my life. Don’t tell Fury.”

“I would never,” Clint says. “I try to talk to him as little as possible, anyway.”

“You scared?”

“No, only baby agents are legitimately scared of Fury. I just don’t want to get on his bad side. Seems like it’d be pretty easy. He doesn’t like me that much.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Fury loves you.”

Clint snorts. “On what authority?”

“We go back. We were Rangers together. I’d know if he had anything but positive feelings about you.”

“You were in the army together?”

Phil nods. “Three deployments in five years.”

“His name’s not Nick Fury, is it?”

“It’s not,” Phil confirms. “But I’m sworn to secrecy regarding what it really is.”

“I’ll ask you again after some scotch tonight.” Clint’s grinning. It’s ... Phil doesn’t want to think someone he’s attracted to is adorable, he really doesn’t, but he can’t help it. “How great is it, drinking good liquor on SHIELD’s dime?”

“Pretty great,” says Phil. “You ever see your brother anymore?”

“We’re supposed to be talking about good things, Phil.”

“He doesn’t fall into that category, then?”

Clint shakes his head emphatically.

“Alright. Good things.” Phil taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “I was going to get you cereal.”

“What?”

“For Secret Santa,” says Phil. “I’ve been on eBay a lot.”

“You can get cereal on eBay?”

“You can get _anything_ on eBay.”

“And you were going to get me cereal,” Clint says. “That would’ve been a good thing.”

“As I said, I still might,” says Phil. “Secret Santa getting canceled doesn’t mean Christmas gets canceled.”

“Christmas isn’t a thing I usually do.” Clint skips a track on the CD so they’re listening to Fleetwood Mac—a bit closer to Phil’s taste than Dropkick Murphys, but he won’t tell Clint that. “Not when I was a kid and not really in the circus, either. I did have a girlfriend who got really into holidays for a while, but that didn’t last long.”

“The last person I dated was very serious about Christmas,” says Phil. If Clint’s not going to say his ex-girlfriend’s name, then Phil sure as hell isn’t going to say Maria Hill’s. “The one before that was more my speed. He gave me a tie and some bourbon, and we watched _Die Hard_.”

“I’ve never seen _Die Hard_.”

“Never—what? You’d love it.”

“Well, maybe we can watch it. For Christmas.” Phil looks over at Clint, whose ears have gone slightly pink. “What was the tie like?”

“Ugly,” says Phil. “I threw it away after we broke up. Maybe before. Maybe that’s why we broke up.” Clint laughs. It’s not derisive, but Phil still feels the need to defend himself. “Hey, I like someone with strong aesthetic sensibilities. He didn’t really have that.”

“I don’t, either. At least, not without this coat. And you’re keeping me around.” Clint’s ears aren’t pink this time. Instead, he’s looking straight at Phil, his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” says Phil softly. “I guess I am.”

They don’t talk for a little while after that, but from the feeling of warmth Phil’s experiencing and the slight upturn of Clint’s lips, Phil’s thinking that’s OK with both of them.


	4. You Take the High Road (to Kissing)

They go to the distillery first, more out of obligation than anything else, and soon determine that there’s absolutely nothing fishy there. They don’t take the full tour, but Phil does pick up small bottles of scotch for Fury and Hill—gifts that’ll be more “Thanks for letting me go on a milk run for once” than “Merry Christmas.” By the time they’ve thoroughly vetted the building, they’re both hungry enough for a burger and it’s (arguably) late enough for a beer, so they get lunch before heading out on the trails around the loch.

“I don’t think I knew the sky could be so many different colors,” Clint says as they walk close enough to the shore to hear the gentle lapping of the tide. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Not really, no,” says Phil. “Gorgeous, right? Like the mountains are colliding with the water and the water doesn’t care.”

“Yeah.” Clint’s smiling. Phil can’t resist smiling back. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

“I’m surprised neither of us has made it out here before,” says Phil. “Unless you have and you’re just faking.”

“No, never,” Clint says just as snow begins falling—lightly, but there’s enough of it that he puts his tongue out to catch a flake before adding, “Not enough shady stuff going on around here for me to get called out.”

“Did I really just watch you eat a snowflake?”

“Oh, come on, Phil, like you’ve never snow-swallowed?”

“That is not what it’s called.”

“What is it called, then?”

“It’s not called anything.”

“You haven’t done it, have you?” Clint sounds incredulous. He puts his hand on Phil’s arm. “Stop talking, open your mouth, and look at the sky. Right now.”

Phil rolls his eyes and sighs, but he does as he’s told, and within seconds, snowflakes are hitting his tongue, cold and wet and kind of perfect, because Clint’s laughing and still holding his arm, only now he’s kind of squeezing rather than just touching. Phil closes his mouth and looks back at Clint.

“Fine. I did it. I snow-swallowed. Are you happy?”

Clint looks at him, squinting slightly, and cocks his head to the side. “No. Not yet.” Without warning, he leans closer to Phil and kisses him. As far as kisses go, it’s not pretty. Clint’s nose has been broken more than once, and it’s not as easy for Phil to maneuver around it as anticipated; as a result, there’s a bit of bumping and a nervous laugh or two on both their parts. Phil’s mouth is open, but Clint hasn’t done anything about it, and that’s frustrating, really, so since everything’s so sloppy already, Phil just goes for it, slides his tongue between Clint’s slightly parted lips, and Clint makes this noise that’s somehow very endearing and incredibly arousing at the same time. Then Clint’s tongue is against his, and yeah, it’s still a mess, but it’s a fantastic mess, the kind of mess that Phil could get used to, if Clint wasn’t his subordinate and this wasn’t something he’d actively avoided in all his time at SHIELD.

Phil’s not sure when it happened, but when he breaks off the kiss and considers stepping backward, he quickly realizes that’s not something he can do, not when Clint’s arms are quite this tight around his waist and his are wound around Clint’s neck. He decides to leave them that way, because Clint’s got a pretty fantastic neck, and if they’re going to talk about something unpleasant, they might as well make things as pleasant as possible.

“Clint,” Phil begins, and then it dawns on him that he has no idea what to say next.

“Phil.”

“Clint, I—”

“No. Don’t. Whatever way you’re going to twist this—like, we can’t do this because you’re a senior and I’m a junior, or you’re my handler and I’m your asset, which, by the way, _totally_ sexual language, can you tell Fury that he should maybe shift the wording around? Or you’re too insecure or I’m too young or we don’t know each other well enough—none of that, OK? I like you. I like you a lot, and I have for a while, and I talked to HR, and I even talked to Hill, and there are no rules about this kind of thing.” Clint pauses before adding, “Actually, Hill said sometimes it works even better when agents out in the field together are also, you know, together. Because you’re even more serious about keeping that other agent safe.”

“You ... looked into this?” Clint nods. “You talked to Hill about this? You didn’t use my name, did you?”

“No. Would it matter?”

“We dated,” says Phil. “For a year. It would’ve been serious if I weren’t just a little too gay for her. Also, she clipped her toenails in bed. My bed.”

“I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, but that’s disgusting.”

“Instant dealbreaker,” Phil agrees. “Anyway, she gave you the all-clear?”

“Yeah. And this was before we were even given this assignment. Which I’m pretty sure was Sharon’s idea to get us to date.”

“She has been rather pushy.”

“And you haven’t done anything. Why?”

Phil sighs and leans his forehead against Clint’s. “It’s not you, OK? Before you think that, it has nothing to do with you. It’s just, well, you said it. I don’t have a lot of faith in the way I handle relationships. Past evidence would suggest I’m not a great boyfriend.”

“You let me share your Cookie Crisp,” says Clint. “Past evidence would suggest you have potential to be the best boyfriend in the world.” He kisses Phil again. It’s a lot smoother this time, just soft and sweet and closed-mouthed. “I know you don’t like yourself as much as you should. You need someone to do it.”

“Are you offering?”

“I am. Are you accepting?”

“One thing,” Phil says.

“Yeah?”

“If we’re going to do this—and I want to, I really do—then I’m going to have to know more of you, Clint.” He looks at Clint and his incredible eyes and crooked smile and more crooked nose. “I feel like it’s been a great privilege, finding out bits and pieces of your life before where we are now. But it’s not enough. Are you going to be able to open up to me? I’ll tell you anything and everything if you want me to. But I expect the same from you.”

Clint hesitates before saying, “It’s not going to be easy, some of the stuff I’m going to want to tell you. Not easy for me to say, not easy for you to hear.”

“That’s OK. Just ... Just as long as you want to, alright?”

“I do. And I will. It’ll probably take a while.”

“We have time,” says Phil. “I just need to know that I’m going to get to know you.”

“You already know so much more than anyone else,” Clint says. “And you’re still, like, into me. I think. You are, right?”

Phil rolls his eyes. “So into you. It’s a little pathetic.”

“Not to me.”

“Good.” Phil inclines his head toward Clint’s so they can kiss again. The technique’s better this time, but it’s still so new, the slight burn of Clint’s stubble against Phil’s upper lip, the tug of Clint’s teeth that soon replaces it. It’s foreign and unreal and Phil doesn’t think he’ll be able to get enough of it. Then a family with three small children meanders by them, two grown men kissing in front of a loch, and Phil pulls away.

“Clint, there are kind of a lot of kids around,” he says.

“I honestly hadn’t noticed,” says Clint. “You’re a damn good kisser, Phil. I may need you to keep reminding me of that when there aren’t children present.”

“I could be persuaded,” Phil says, slipping his hand into Clint’s and heading back down the trail. “Want to do a lap then go see if we can find a copy of _Die Hard_?”

“That sounds amazing, actually,” says Clint. “And maybe get some cereal?”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Phil says, grinning like an idiot when Clint’s fingers tangle with his.


	5. Yeah, Why Not?

They don’t find a copy of _Die Hard_ , but they do find an AIM scientist who can’t seem to stop bragging about his accomplishments in the field of robotics after Romanov gets a few drinks in him. She’s a natural at working undercover to the point that Phil, upon their return to the States three days before Christmas, requests that he be her primary handler. Fury agrees. If he’s helped along by the scotch Phil’s just handed him, well, Phil can’t be held responsible for that.

It feels as though the entire office already knows he and Clint are together when the two of them, Sharon, and Natasha are back at work. There are a lot of smirks, a handful of high fives, a few genuine congratulations, and a wounded look or two from baby agents. (Phil gets flak for that from Sharon, but he’d be worried if he didn’t.) They try not to make it obvious while they’re at SHIELD, but it’s not as easy as Phil expected. Clint’s just so ... _available_ now, now that Phil knows his eyelashes are dark brown and pin straight, he has three scars along his right shoulder and he’s already explained two of them, and his birthday is June 18, but he’s not much for celebrating it. And that can make it difficult to concentrate in mission briefings and morning meetings with the senior agents. Clint’s not even in the room then, but Phil can practically hear his sarcastic commentary and see his smirk.

“It’s bizarre,” he says to Sharon when the two of them are eating lunch. Clint’s on the range, otherwise he’d be next to Phil with his hand on Phil’s knee, rubbing his ankle against Phil’s, smoothing his fingers over Phil’s pants—wool/cotton blend for winter, typically black, though he’s wearing blue today. “I’ve never cared so little about meetings and after-action reports.”

“That’s because you have a boyfriend,” says Sharon. “And for a normal person, relationships are more important than work.”

“Apparently I have become a normal person,” Phil says. He pauses before saying, “Do you think Maria—”

Sharon holds up her hand. “If Maria was bothered by you putting work before her however many years ago you dated—”

“Five, I think? Maybe six.”

“Then believe me, she’s gotten over it by now,” says Sharon. “She’s way too far gone for Sitwell to remember if she was ever mad at you.”

“Should I apologize?”

“I don’t think you need to, but she wouldn’t mind hearing it, I’m sure.”

“So she’s mentioned it?”

“Not in the year and a half she’s been pining over Sitwell.”

“That’s somewhat reassuring,” Phil says. “Anyway. This isn’t worth dwelling on.”

“We can talk about Clint’s arms if you want.”

Phil hopes he doesn’t go too starry-eyed at that. “No, I think everyone else here’s already talked about that enough with me. Or tried to.”

“Well, there’s a lot to say about them.”

“A lot to say about what?” Clint puts his tray on the table, sits down next to Phil, and kicks at Phil’s foot. Phil skims his ankle along Clint’s, and Clint smiles at him, almost shyly.

“I thought you were at the range,” says Phil.

“I got bored. And hungry.” Despite having plenty of his own food, Clint takes a fry from Phil’s tray. Phil flicks at Clint’s knuckle, and Clint smirks at him before turning his attention to Sharon.

“Hey, thought you were leaving for Christmas,” he says, and there’s something about Clint knowing Sharon’s travel plans that surprises Phil—pleasantly, to be sure, because Clint doesn’t usually give much of himself to anyone, and even if Sharon knows little to nothing about him, he’s making an effort to know her. Phil reaches over and squeezes Clint’s knee, and the corners of Clint’s mouth turn upward ever so slightly.

“I’m flying out tomorrow,” she says. “Weather permitting. What are you doing?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” says Clint. “Unless I get a better offer.”

Sharon looks at Phil probingly. Phil raises an eyebrow at her, hoping she’ll know to drop the subject. His family knows who Clint is—Clint’s even been in his office when he’s Skyped with his sister and her family—but it feels far too soon to have him meet the Coulsons. That’s why he’s surprised to hear himself say, “If you don’t mind spending an hour or so in a car, you could come to Peekskill with me. My mom would be thrilled to have someone as enthusiastic about food as you are at the table.”

“Really?” Clint looks at him, his expression a combination of disbelief and excitement. “You’d be cool with that?”

“Yeah, why not?” Phil forces a shrug, but he knows this is a big deal, and Clint knows this is a big deal, and judging from how hard Sharon’s trying not to laugh, she’s well aware, too. “I hope you like kids. My sister has four and my brother has three.”

“Kids are cool,” says Clint. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

Clint nods. “Awesome. I’ll be ready.”

“Bring warm clothes,” Phil says. “The kids are going to want to play outside, and I’m guessing you’d be an asset in a snowball fight.”

“I’m no tactician, but I have some skills,” says Clint. He picks up his sandwich and takes a couple bites. Sharon uses this time to mouth “Yeah, why not?” at Phil; while Clint’s attention is still diverted, Phil casually flicks her off. She snorts. Clint either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it.

“I have to go,” Sharon says, standing and picking up her tray. “Fury wanted to debrief before I leave. In case I don’t see you two again, Merry Christmas. Enjoy Peekskill.”

“We will,” says Clint. He’s grinning, and it’s adorable, though Phil would never say so out loud. (Probably.) “You too.” Phil nods at her, and she’s clearly still holding back laughter as she walks away.

Clint looks around. “So we’re the only people crazy enough to put off lunch till 3?”

“It looks that way,” says Phil.

“OK. Cool. Then I wanted to do this.” He swiftly kisses Phil on the cheek. “And ask you about that. The whole ‘showing affection in public’ thing.”

“In public is different from at work,” says Phil. “If we’re here and not completely alone—what you just did, that’s fine—but if there’s anyone around, then it’s best we not do anything. Just a professionalism thing.”

“So none of this?” Clint slides his hand from Phil’s knee to the inside of his thigh.

Phil swallows hard. “Well, since it’s under the table, it’s fine for us to touch feet or you to put your hand on my leg, that sort of thing. But what you’re doing right now, I’m not sure I can handle that.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to handle it.” Clint smiles crookedly. Phil shakes his head. “OK, OK, none of that, not here, not in a restaurant, assuming we go on a date or something crazy like that someday.”

“Maybe in a restaurant,” Phil says. “Anyway, I think we’ve been behaving in a way that’s perfectly professional so far.”

“Good.” Clint removes his hand from Phil’s thigh and turns his attention back to his food. “So I’ve passed some kind of test, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Clint takes a few seconds to savor a bite of the macaroni and cheese he inexplicably loves. “I get to meet your parents after dating you for less than 48 hours.”

“Well, you’re my boyfriend,” says Phil. “It would just be weird if they started talking about how I’m always single, and I said, ‘Actually...’”

“Do they usually talk about how you’re always single?”

“Every major holiday.”

“That’s annoying.”

Phil shrugs. “That’s family.”

“Wouldn’t know.” Clint cringes. “Sorry. But you’re going to have to teach me how to act like a normal person.”

“You do pretty well with that as is. And you don’t have to apologize. I ... I don’t understand, but I know.”

“Thanks for not acting like you totally get it,” says Clint. “Want to know about the third scar?”

“It looks like you got strafed by a knife.”

“Got it in one. Failed combination archery/knife act at the circus. Turns out the person tossing didn’t have A+ aim.”

Phil grimaces in sympathy. “Not as good of a story as the tiger bite.”

“Not at all,” Clint agrees. “So should I stay at your place tonight? Make leaving town tomorrow easier?”

Phil nearly chokes on his carrot cake (the only piece that had been left—he’s already seen Clint eyeing it, and he hasn’t decided if they’re at that point in their relationship, where Phil willingly sacrifices the SHIELD cafeteria’s best offering).

“When you say ‘stay at my place—’”

Clint laughs. “Not like that. We’ve barely even had the chance to kiss. I’m easy, but I’m not that easy.”

“We’ll have to revisit that idea later,” says Phil. “And sure. Just bring your stuff. We can take a cab back to my place tonight.”

“It’ll be nice to see your apartment without having to break in first.”

“About that. How many times have you done that?”

“Only the one time. And it was damn hard. But you know me. I like a challenge.”

“So do I. Guess that’s why I’m keeping you around.”

Clint grins and kisses Phil on the cheek again. “See you in a few hours?”

“See you in a few hours.”

Clint stands and tosses off a lazy salute. Phil shakes his head and smiles as he blatantly—because no one else is here, and anyway, he has the right now—watches Clint’s backside as he leaves for God knows where.

It’s not as awkward as Phil anticipated when Clint, already nodding off against Phil’s shoulder as they watch _Return of the Jedi_ on cable, stands and stretches and says it’s time for bed, heading straight for Phil’s room. Phil looks at him questioningly.

“I...” Clint hesitates. “I like the idea of being in the same bed as you, OK? We don’t have to do anything. I just—I sleep better when I’m not alone. And it’s been a really long time since I’ve had a really good night of sleep.”

Phil nods. “I’ve been known to hog the covers.”

“I’ll get by.”

Within 15 minutes, Clint’s curled around Phil tightly, arms wound around Phil’s chest. “You smell good,” Clint says into his neck. “You always smell good. How do you do that?”

“How do you?”

”Must come naturally.” Clint brushes a kiss against Phil’s shoulder. ”See you in the morning.”

If it’s not the best sleep of Phil’s life, it’s pretty damn close.


	6. Clan Coulson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot longer than I originally intended it to be, but each Coulson deserves some face time, no?

“So, let’s review,” says Phil. They’re sitting in the SHIELD loaner—a sleek, smallish Hyundai this time around—parked in the driveway of his parents’ house. “You’re not my subordinate. We met at an office Halloween party, I recognized your Count Chocula costume, and we’ve been together ever since.”

“Or we could tell them the truth,” Clint says. “You know, you found me in an alley in Budapest, cleaned me up real nice, got me a job, turned me loose on a few insane missions, and let me kiss you on the least insane one a few days ago.”

“OK, let’s compromise,” says Phil. “We met in the fall when I was on assignment in Hungary. There was a position at the agency—that’s what I call it, the agency—I thought you’d be right for, so you flew back with me, and we’ve been close since then, but only just started dating while we were in Scotland.”

“No exact date?”

“No exact date.”

“I think I can work with that.” Clint squeezes Phil’s hand and kisses him on the cheek. He’s got a nervous look on his face that Phil would love to kiss away, but he can see his sister and her husband at the door, and he doesn’t want to give them too much to mock already. With one last squeeze, Phil lets go of Clint’s hand and gets out of the car, opening the trunk to retrieve the bulk of their things.

Phil’s sister Beth greets them warmly as soon as she swings open the door and instructs her husband—Tom, who Phil’s always liked—to take their duffel bags to Phil’s old bedroom and the presents to the living room.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Clint,” she says after hugging both of them. If Clint was taken aback by the hug, it didn’t show; already, he looks more comfortable than he did when they pulled in.

“Finally?” Clint laughs. “I’ve only known Phil for about four months.” He looks at Phil fondly. “Not long enough.”

Beth puts her hand to her chest and beams. Tom rolls his eyes at her. “Do me a favor, Clint? Try not to be too romantic with Phil when you’re around her? You’re going to make us all look bad.”

“Not all of us,” says Phil’s brother James, who’s ambling down the stairs. At 6 feet, 5 inches, ambling is about the only way he knows how to move. Phil’s never envied James’ height; it means that Mom and Dad pushed James into playing basketball while Phil quietly collected honor roll awards and comic books. He did get jealous occasionally of how ludicrously good-looking and charismatic his brother was, though—especially the smile that seemed to make girls feel like they were the most important thing in the world to him. That was why Phil appreciated his brother’s wife so much. Emily had grown up in Peekskill but never paid attention to James, which made her all the more interesting. Eventually, he won her over—not with the smile, but with the promise to never use it on anyone else again. Seven years and three kids later, Phil’s pretty sure James kept his promise.

Right now, one of those three kids is cradled against James’ chest. Phil looks at James imploringly. “With pleasure,” says James, handing Gracie off to Phil. Gracie’s only six months old, with her dad’s sparkling blue eyes and the beginnings of her mom’s spun-gold hair. Phil adored her on sight when he was lucky enough to be around for her birth. He’s not sure why Gracie’s his soft spot; all the nieces and nephews—from Beth and Tom’s nine-year-old Joey, who still gets called “Oops” on occasion, to James and Emily’s two-year-old Maddie—are sweet, well-behaved, funny kids. But Gracie...

“God, Phil, she’s beautiful,” Clint says to him quietly, and Phil can’t do anything but nod in agreement as he cuddles Gracie close.

“You should see her mom,” says James proudly, shaking Clint’s hand. Emily’s already rolling her eyes as she walks forward, giving Clint a kind of half-hug, since Maddie’s balanced against her opposite hip.

“If you’ve already pawned off your precious baby to Phil, shouldn’t you be looking after your suspiciously absent son?” she asks James.

James leans over and kisses her on the forehead. “Had to say hi to my little bro first and, as you’ve pointed out, give him our baby for the foreseeable future. Hi, little bro. Your boyfriend’s handsome. Strong handshake. Doesn’t look too scared of being swarmed by Coulsons. I think he’ll do fine.” James salutes Clint, who looks amused. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find my prodigal.” Emily, eyes still rolling, trails after him.

“I like your family,” Clint says to Phil.

“I hope you’ll still be saying that after you’ve met my parents,” says Phil. “And the other kids.”

“Hey!” says Beth, faux-affronted. “The other kids are far superior to the ones you’ve seen so far. Except maybe Gracie. Gracie’s pretty special.”

“Do you want to hold her?” Phil asks Clint. For the first time since Beth hugged him, Clint looks nervous again. “It’ll be OK. I’ve seen you be careful plenty of times.” Phil hands the baby to Clint, who holds Gracie gingerly till she opens her eyes, blinks, and settles against Clint’s chest.

“See? She likes you.”

“She’s a baby,” says Clint. “She likes warmth.”

“And you’re warm; ipso facto, she likes you,” Phil says, and Clint shakes his head, but he looks happy when Gracie makes a gurgling noise and closes her eyes.

“Mom and Dad are in the kitchen,” says Beth.

“I’ve never seen so much food in this house,” Tom says. “How recently did you tell Ann that you’d be bringing a guest, Phil?”

“Yesterday,” says Phil. “Hadn’t asked till then. Hadn’t thought of it.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Clint says. He’s speaking softly, as if he doesn’t want Gracie to change her mind about cuddling with him. “He’s a very considerate boyfriend. He just loses focus once in a while.”

“So long as you can distract him,” says Beth with a wink. Phil doesn’t experience embarrassment very often. He doesn’t think he likes it.

“On that frankly disturbing note—no offense, Clint—”

“None taken.”

“We should probably round up our kids, who are being suspiciously quiet, and you should go see the parents,” Tom says. “They’re gonna love you, Clint.” Tom and Beth take the stairs behind them. Clint turns to Phil.

“Two questions,” he says, still quiet. “One, how long am I supposed to hold this baby?”

“As long or as short as you want,” says Phil.

“Alright. I can live with that. And two, why are your parents going to love me?”

“Oh, they didn’t...” Phil chooses his words carefully. “They haven’t been one hundred percent supportive of my previous boyfriends and girlfriends. Not strong enough for me, they say. Not outspoken enough.”

Clint laughs. Loudly. Fortunately, Gracie is undisturbed. “They thought Hill wasn’t outspoken or strong enough?”

“Oh, they never met Maria,” says Phil. “We broke up before Christmas. After a horrible Thanksgiving, I made sure of that.”

“Do you think she knew why?”

“I hope not.” Phil and Clint make their way to the kitchen. “Sorry you haven’t gotten an official tour.”

“I’m mostly curious how many Captain America posters are still up in your bedroom,” Clint says.

“Oh, I’d never take them down,” says Phil’s mom. She’s not a tall woman, but she still completely envelops Phil in a hug. “It’s good to see you. And you, too, Clint.” She steps back from Phil and over to Clint, who she hugs one-armed, since Gracie’s now drooling against Clint’s chest. “I see you’ve made a new friend.”

“Yeah, she’s great,” says Clint. “Good listener. Doesn’t have much to say, but when she does, it’s always worth hearing.” Gracie sighs softly in her sleep. “Like that, right there.”

Phil’s dad turns around from the stove, where Phil’s guessing he’s keeping an overly close eye on the sweet potato casserole. “Phil. Clint. Nice to see you both.” He shakes their hands in turn; Clint has to sneak one out from under Gracie and immediately slip it back under her, but Phil’s dad looks satisfied enough with the power of Clint’s handshake. This is a bigger deal than Phil remembers.

“Sweet potatoes?” Phil asks.

His dad nods. “Don’t want to burn them.”

“That hasn’t happened since 1986, Keith,” says his mom. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. Have you met everyone, Clint?”

“Not everyone, no,” says Clint. “All the siblings and two of the kids. You’ve got a pretty great family.”

“We like to think so,” she says. “Phil, why don’t the two of you take a look around the house, let Clint get a feel for his home for the next few days?”

“Sounds good.” Phil turns to Clint, who’s a bit flushed, though Phil can’t fathom why. “Why don’t we go upstairs? Then you can see the other kids and give Gracie back.”

“Arms aren’t too tired yet,” says Clint. “But sure. Nice meeting you both.” Both Phil’s parents respond in kind, and Phil puts his hand on the small of Clint’s back, guiding him toward the stairs.

“Is everything OK?” he asks Clint.

“Yeah,” says Clint. “Everything’s really great, actually. Just—your mom. She called this my home, and that’s, yeah, that’s kind of big.”

Phil thinks for a moment about Clint’s upbringing—orphanages, the circus, the streets—and realizes that, yeah, that isn’t an insignificant thing to say.

“Well, she knows I care about you,” says Phil. “And by extension, so does she. She wants you to be part of the family, no matter how presumptuous that may seem.”

“Not presumptuous. Not at all.” Clint laughs softly and shakes his head. “I don’t think you have any idea—just, yeah. It isn’t. OK?”

“OK,” Phil agrees, though he’s not sure to what he’s agreeing, and they get to the upstairs landing, where they’re greeted by a wiry girl with copper-colored pigtails and a missing front tooth.

“Uncle Phil!” she shouts.

“Amy!” Phil picks up the stick-skinny seven-year-old and twirls her around. She giggles madly, still laughing when he puts her down.

“I’m Amy,” she announces to Clint. “And you’re Uncle Phil’s boyfriend.”

“Guilty as charged,” Clint says, smiling, as Amy throws her arms around his waist. Turning to Phil, she tugs at his hand.

“Sarah won’t say hi, because she’s shy,” she informs them. “But Joey might. And Andy will. Andy’s my twin. I know you know that, but you don’t.” She looks at Clint. “Did you know that?”

“I didn’t know that,” says Clint. “Is he as cute as you? Or as sweet?”

“Maybe,” she says, giggling and pulling Phil into a room that used to be James’ but now seems to belong to the Coulson Grandchild Collective, as James has dubbed them. Two smaller boys—Rory and Andy—watch in rapt attention as Joey clicks the final pieces of a K’NEX roller coaster into place. Maddie’s on Emily’s lap, listening as she reads a story, and Sarah, the aforementioned shy one, is playing with a pair of toy horses in the corner. James and Tom are standing off to the side, each with a beer in hand, and Beth’s next to them, but she’s clearly keeping an eye on the boys.

“Holy.” Clint stops there. Phil can’t help laughing at him a little.

“Yeah, there’s kind of a lot of them,” says Phil. “I would introduce you around, but it took me nine years to get their names down, and I really don’t want to do that to you. Hey, James, mind taking your daughter off Clint’s hands?”

“Much obliged, Clint,” James says, stepping over and scooping Gracie up with one arm. “I’ll owe you one later. Maybe an embarrassing story about Phil?”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” Clint says, smiling. “In the meantime, I don’t think my tour’s over.”

“Hey, bro? That’s code for ‘Show me your bedroom,’” James says in an exaggerated whisper. Phil’s not blushing. That would be ridiculous.

“You heard what the man said,” says Clint, smirking, and within moments, Phil’s standing in the doorway of his childhood bedroom while Clint surveys the scene, stepping from poster to poster, analyzing every Polaroid Phil tacked to the walls over the years. He eventually lands on the wall behind the bed, which he flops down onto. Stretching out his legs, he pats the available space next to him.

“Young Phil Coulson had a queen bed?” Clint asks as Phil lies down next to him, leaning his head back against one of the pillows. “Pretty high class.”

“No, young Phil Coulson’s parents moved a nicer bed into his room after he left the house, because life is unfair,” says Phil, closing his eyes.

“Hey, I didn’t get you in here so you could nap,” Clint says, poking him in the chest. Phil opens one eye and sees Clint leaning over him, grinning as he reaches out his ankle just fair enough to kick the door closed. “Can you think of anything hotter than making out in front of all these Captain America posters?”

“I can think of many things hotter, yes.”

“I’m taking that as a challenge,” Clint says, closing the distance between them and kissing Phil. It’s probably against Phil’s better judgment, but he pulls Clint till Clint’s draped over him completely, kissing him softly and slowly and oh-so-carefully.

“I’m not made of glass,” Phil says softly into Clint’s ear.

Clint chuckles and leans down to tug at Phil’s earlobe with his teeth. “I know. I just ... We’re going slow, right?”

“If that’s what you want,” Phil says. He knows he should be careful with this—Clint’s clearly never really been treated as well as he deserves to be, and that’s all Phil wants to do for him—but he also knows he can let Clint take the lead, see where that goes.

“Yeah, I—” Clint kisses him on the cheek before going on, “I like you. Like, really, really like you. And I don’t want to mess it up by adding sex to the mix, like, right away, you know? I mean, I do want to, I just don’t think we should. Does that make any sense at all?”

“Plenty.” Phil kisses him, short and sweet, no tongue, since that seems to be what they’re doing right now, and that’s fine with him. It’s also fine with him when Clint’s tongue tangles with his, and that's fine for another full twenty minutes till a child—or many children, Phil can’t tell from over here—pounds on the door.

“Dinner’s ready!” Amy shouts.

“Does she have other volumes?” Clint asks, voice muffled as he speaks into Phil’s neck.

“Apparently not.” Phil shoves Clint’s shoulders gently. Clint whimpers.

“You’re adorable.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” says Phil, stretching as Clint stands. “Ready to face the horde?”

“Now or never, I guess,” Clint says, and he’s grinning as he takes Phil’s hand and opens the door.


	7. Snow Day

“So, what are you, 16?” Beth sits down on the porch steps next to Phil, who’s watching Clint, James, Tom, and Joey pelt each other with snowballs while Rory and the twins run around them, giggling. Phil’s parents are helping Sarah with a snowman, and Phil’s pretty sure Emily is taking advantage of Maddie and Sarah’s nap time to read in their makeshift nursery.

“I don’t think I get your meaning,” says Phil.

“Sneaking off to kiss your boyfriend every five minutes.”

“Beth, you know I wasn’t doing that when I was 16.”

“You could’ve been if you’d tried,” she says.

“How would you know? You were 11.”

“But a very smart 11.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, laughing when she shoves him. “And it’s only been once or twice. Can you keep a secret?”

“Like how I didn’t tell Mom and Dad you were into both boys and girls, even though I knew at 11? Told you I was smart. Anyway. Yes. I can keep a secret.”

“Clint and I... OK, you’re going to laugh at me.”

“Tell me!”

Phil sighs. “Clint and I started dating this week, which is why the kissing is still new and exciting.”

“Are you serious?” Beth sounds gleeful. “You know how badly I want to tell Tom already, right? This is so high school. I bet you want to marry him. You want to marry him, don’t you?”

“OK, who’s 16 now?” Phil nudges his shoulder against Beth’s.

“Well, you’re almost 40, Phil,” says Beth. “Usually, when people your age date, they’re not looking for something that isn’t serious.”

“People my age.” Phil scoffs. “Aren’t you 35 by now?”

“33 and you know it. How old is he, anyway? He looks really young.”

“He’s 31,” says Phil. “And before you say anything, he’s had enough of life to be my age by now. And he acts like it.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t,” Beth says. She takes in the scene in front of them—Tom, James, and Joey are still at it with the snowballs, but Clint’s crouched down on the ground with Rory, Amy, and Andy, putting together what looks like a pretty impressive snow fortress. “He fits in pretty well.”

“I noticed.” The gift exchange and the second of many huge meals had taken place earlier, and Clint was a perfect houseguest the whole time—offering to help ferry out presents and set the table, graciously accepting the knickknacks and clothes Phil’s family gave him, and complimenting Phil’s parents’ cooking. And clearly, the kids are pretty taken with him, judging from how raptly the twins and Rory are paying attention as he sculpts a turret.

“And he’s obviously in love with you.”

Phil does his best not to sputter in reply. “I—yeah, no, I think it’s a bit early to say that.”

“Apparently you don’t see the way he looks at you,” says Beth, shaking her head. “The guy would have your babies if he could.”

“I’ll leave the babies to you and Em for now,” Phil says. “You... You really think so, though?”

Beth rolls her eyes and shoves him. “Yes, I really think so. Tom looks at me the same way. Maybe less than he did ten years ago, but still. I don’t think Clint’s leaving anytime soon. At least, not without you.”

“OK, you’re being way too nice to me to not have an ulterior motive,” says Phil. “Do you need me to babysit on New Year’s or something?”

“What, I can’t be nice to my brother on Christmas? My brother and his sexy boyfriend who gave him a tie pin that looks like an arrow and a special edition of _Die Hard_?”

“He’s an archer,” Phil says. “And could you do me a favor and never call Clint sexy ever again? In your life?”

“You opened yourself up to this when you decided to like boys,” says Beth.

“Decided. Right.”

“Hey,” says Clint, coming over, boots and jeans covered in snow. “Make some room.”

“You heard him,” Phil says to Beth. “Go pay attention to your kids or something.”

Beth rolls her eyes. “If you think I’m still going to be nice to you after kicking me off the porch, you have another thing coming.” She does leave, though, scooping up enough snow to pour down the back of Tom’s coat—much to the twins’ and Joey’s delight. Clint slumps down next to Phil and tangles their fingers together.

“I’m exhausted,” says Clint. “You didn’t tell me your brother and Tom were actually in pretty decent shape.”

“Yeah, well, James is still really into sports, and Tom—Tom’s just always been built like a brick wall.” Phil puts his other hand to Clint’s face. “Your cheeks are really rosy. Need to go inside?”

“Depends. Is there hot cocoa there?”

“Almost certainly,” says Phil. “It’s not a bad look on you, though. I might even call it cute.”

“You guys are disgusting!” James calls out gleefully, and Phil pulls his hand away. Under normal circumstances, he’d flip James off, but normal circumstances don’t involve a mob of impressionable young children. Instead, he stands up, pulling Clint with him.

“Clint! We’re not done with the snow castle!” says Amy, running over and tugging on Clint’s pant leg.

“Amy,” Beth says, just loud enough for her daughter to hear. “Andy needs your help making a snowbear.”

“Snowbear?” Clint mouths to Phil.

“He’s into bears,” Phil says with a shrug, shooting a grateful look at Beth. They walk back in and Clint heads upstairs to swap out pants while Phil begins preparing hot cocoa. He’s never really grown out of his sweet tooth, so he’s glad Clint’s the same way. A few minutes later, Clint’s sitting next to him on the couch, hands cupped around a Captain America coffee mug.

“This,” says Clint, “is the best cocoa I’ve ever tasted.”

“That’s because the mix is made of real cocoa,” Phil says. “We’re not a Hershey’s instant mix family. That’s sacrilege.”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve been accepted into the holy Coulson fold, then,” says Clint. “Assuming that’s what’s happening. Sure seems like no one hates me around here.”

“Far from it,” Phil says. “I’m pretty sure at least 50 percent of the kids already prefer Uncle Phil’s fun boyfriend to boring Uncle Phil.”

“Please,” says Clint. “If story time with Uncle Phil before bed last night had been a ticketed event, you would’ve made a fortune. Book was creepy as fuck, though.”

“No four-letter words in front of the baby, Clint,” Emily chides him gently as she walks into the room, Gracie nestled in her arms. “Actually, that’s a lie. Gracie hears all kinds of profanity. It’s Rory I worry about repeating it.”

“Not Maddie?” Phil asks.

Emily shakes her head. “Too shy to repeat everything. I think she and Sarah will be good playmates in a year or two.”

“Where is she?”

“Still asleep. Figured I’d wake her up after I gave you guys Gracie. You don’t mind, right? I just want to make sure James hasn’t broken anything.”

“Last we checked, he hadn’t,” says Clint. He takes a final slurp and puts his mug down on the coffee table, extending his arms for Gracie. Emily passes her to Clint.

“Hey, Gracie,” Clint says softly, and Gracie gurgles in response. “Good nap? I bet. You had a busy morning.” While his attention is occupied, Emily mouths something at Phil. It looks a lot like “So adorable.” Phil nods emphatically.

“How’s the book?” he asks Emily.

“Oh, it’s great,” she says. “Thanks so much for actually reading my wish list instead of finding a scarf at Target and calling it good.” She makes a face. “Sorry. That sounds really ungrateful. And they’re pretty scarves, really. But I have a lot of them.”

“How many is a lot?”

“12, after today.” Emily sighs. “I didn’t know I looked like someone who wore scarves until I started dating James.”

“How long have you guys been together?” Clint asks.

“Oh, we got together my second year of college, so, gosh, 15 years? Doesn’t feel like it’s been that long.” Emily looks at Phil and smirks. “Phil’ll never tell you this, but I had a thing for him first.”

“I have no idea why you’d tell anyone that,” says Phil over Clint’s cackles. “It has to be embarrassing for you.”

“Why? James was an ass,” Emily says. “You were so sweet, and you actually listened when I talked to you. That’s a really hard thing for college-aged guys to do. Or it sure seemed like it at the time.”

“James knows you had a crush on Phil, then?” asks Clint.

“He wishes he didn’t,” Phil says. “I don’t think it’s even been mentioned for about, oh, 14 and a half years.” He looks over at Clint. “You know, sometime, I might want another turn at the whole ‘holding Gracie’ thing.”

“Oh! Yeah! Sure. Guess you have uncle privilege and all.” Clint hands Gracie off to Phil. She curls up against his chest, blinks twice, and keeps her eyes closed.

“She’ll drool soon,” Emily warns Phil.

“I’m prepared to deal with it,” he says. “Not all scarves are bad, right? Clint?”

Clint smiles—that borderline shy half-smile of his that drives Phil just a little bit crazy. He’d seen Clint admiring a scarf in the MacDonald clan plaid while they were in Edinburgh, and Phil had mentioned offhand that his mother was descended from that clan.

“And you’re not going to get a scarf?” Clint had asked dubiously. “But it’s awesome! If those were my clan colors, I’d wear them, like, every day.” Phil had been grateful when Natasha diverted Clint’s attention by dragging him to the metalwork shop next door and taken the chance to get the scarf for Clint.

“No,” Clint says now. “Some scarves are pretty awesome.” In fact, he’s already worn it, though he carefully folded it up and put it in his inner coat pocket when the snowball fight got underway. “You did say something about cereal, though.”

“Yeah, didn’t really feel like getting into that with everyone around,” says Phil. “You’ll have some snacks waiting in your office when we get back.”

“I get the feeling I missed something,” Emily says, looking from Phil to Clint and back again.

“It’s—no, it’s nothing,” says Clint. “I mean, it’s something. It’s kind of a big something. But it’s, it’s not easy to—”

“I’ll let you have your secrets,” she says, smiling. “I’m going to go get Maddie. Is there any cocoa left, Phil?”

“Yeah, should be some in the pot on the stove,” says Phil. “Just warm it up for about five minutes if you want some.”

“Thanks.” She turns to leave the room. “Make sure Gracie... Actually, she can’t really do much. So just don’t drop her.”

“You liked the scarf, then?” Phil asks Clint. Clint moves a bit closer to Phil and drapes his arm across the back of the couch. Phil leans his head back against Clint’s arm, and Clint moves his hand just enough to run his fingers through Phil’s hair. It’s such a simple motion, but it’s so damn _nice_ that Phil selfishly hopes the outdoor play session lasts a bit longer. Like 15 minutes. Or five hours. He’s not picky.

“I love the scarf,” Clint says. “You like your stuff?”

“Of course,” says Phil. “The tie pin is perfect. Although it might be just as presumptuous as my gift for you.”

“Nothing wrong with marking your territory,” Clint says with a grin. “And we better watch the movie soon. I feel like a crucial part of my cinematic education is missing.”

“We’ve already covered the silent era, screwball comedies, and seventies blockbusters,” says Phil. “That’s not enough for you?”

“We can keep watching movies every night for as long as you want,” Clint says, and he sounds so sincere that Phil can’t help leaning over to kiss him.

“We’re in your parents’ house, Phil,” says Clint, mock scandalized.

“Yes, where we clearly haven’t made out more than once,” Phil says dryly.

“It’s different in your room. That’s yours. This is their living room. Baby Jesus is watching, and he’s probably judging us so hard.” Clint gestures toward the manger scene by the fireplace. Phil’s never understood why it’s there; his parents quit going to church before any of their kids were born, and Christmas is purely a family holiday in the Coulson house. But then, Tom’s family is fairly religious, and Phil knows that he, Beth, and the kids go to church on occasion, so maybe his parents are just being kind. Regardless, baby Jesus’ cold, dead eyes are pointed in Phil and Clint’s general direction, and Phil doesn’t like it. He hands Gracie to Clint, stands, walks over to the fireplace, turns the figurines around so they’re facing the wall, and walks back to Clint, kissing him as he sits down.

“You’re pretty hot when you’re being defiant, Phil,” says Clint, who’s both smirking and blushing, presumably because Phil dragged his teeth along Clint’s lower lip this time.

“I answer to no figurine,” Phil says. “You’re not going to let me hold Gracie again, are you?”

“Not a chance,” says Clint, kissing Phil on the cheek. “Think we can still make out like teenagers with this baby between us?”

“I really hope not,” Emily says, walking back in with Maddie in her arms. “Maddie was wondering if you could stop corrupting her younger sister and read them both a book, Uncle Phil. Actually, only the second part was from her. The first was from me.”

“Yeah, I suppose I can do both those things.” Clint pouts. “Sorry, Clint. Does Maddie have a book she wants to read?”

Emily puts Maddie down and Maddie climbs onto the couch and into Phil’s lap, battered copy of _Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus_ in hand.

“Ooh, good choice,” says Phil, opening the book. He looks over at Clint, who’s smiling at him.

“Go on, Uncle Phil,” Clint says. “I’ve never read this one.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” says Phil, and he smiles and starts the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Clint calls creepy as fuck is (the late, brilliant) Maurice Sendak's _In the Night Kitchen_. He's not wrong.


	8. Borderline Acrobatic

“You know what I miss?” Clint asks with a sigh, flopping down on Phil’s couch. It’s the 30th, and they’ve both been back at SHIELD for, by Phil’s count, six hours and 27 minutes. Clint doesn’t wait for Phil to respond before he says, “Story time. I miss story time with Uncle Phil.”

“Your last story time with Uncle Phil was only two days ago,” Phil says, resisting the urge to look up from his laptop at Clint, who probably has his feet on the couch. “Boots, Clint.”

“You didn’t even look!”

“I just know.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Clint says, grumbling. “Otherwise I’d just be overwhelmed by your creepy all-seeing, all-knowing ... thing.”

“Out of curiosity,” says Phil, giving in and looking over the screen at Clint, “why is it story time you miss? Why not the food? Or the consistent Mario Kart victories?”

“I can eat well or beat a child at a video game anytime,” Clint says. Phil narrows his eyes at him skeptically. “OK, maybe not the second one. But that wasn’t as great as hearing you read to your nieces and nephews.”

“Who are apparently your nieces and nephews now, too,” says Phil. By the third day of their visit, all the kids who talked had started referring to Clint as Uncle Clint. Clint didn’t seem to mind, and Phil certainly didn’t; in fact, it filled him with an odd sense of relief that he wasn’t going to analyze.

“Yeah, but I don’t have a reading voice like yours,” Clint says. “I’ve never been so invested in a man with a steam shovel before.”

“Mike Mulligan is a lot less interesting than the kids seem to believe. I had to really dig for hidden depth there.”

“Dig. I get it. Because it’s about a shovel.”

“It wasn’t an intentional pun, but I’m glad it worked for you,” says Phil. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Do you remember anything about being a junior agent?” Clint asks. “Anything at all? A lot of it is waiting around till someone decides you’re important enough to complete a milk run or a mission that will cause at least one broken bone.”

“So what you’re saying is you’d like to get a few more missions under your belt.”

“That is what I’m saying, yes.” Clint pauses. “Although that means less you.”

“Not necessarily,” says Phil. “I’ll let Fury know that you and Romanov—let’s include her on this so it doesn’t look like it’s all bias on my part—could use more to do. When are you due for a review?”

“Not till spring.”

“Maybe we’ll speed that up to six months rather than a year. Get you up to agent level rather than junior.”

“So there are perks of this relationship, then,” Clint says. He’s smirking when Phil gets a good look at him. Really, there’s no look at Clint that isn’t good. _Oh, God_ , Phil thinks to himself. _I’m horribly gone._

“And I’m sure they’re your only motivation for sticking around,” says Phil.

“That and the blowjobs.”

“Of which there has been only one.”

“Yes, but it was magnificent.”

“If you’re lucky, there can be a repeat performance tonight.” Phil looks at Clint, whose smirk has transformed into a genuine smile with a bit of heat behind it. “For now, I’d either like you to take a nap or leave.”

“If you weren’t saying it so authoritatively, I might be hurt right now, Phil,” says Clint. “Job over me, then?”

“The job is never over you,” Phil says firmly. “But the job’s still there, and I’m meant to do it, just as you are.”

“Yes, sir,” says Clint with a salute. “Wake me up if it duty calls.”

Phil shakes his head as Clint nods off on the couch. Not long after, there’s a knock at his door. Clint shifts in his sleep, one eye opening, and he nods at Sharon before flipping to face the couch.

“He gets to sleep on your couch?” Sharon asks. “That’s the comfiest couch in this building.”

“He got to sleep on my couch before we were dating,” says Phil. “How was your family?”

“Fine. Wondering why I don’t have a husband yet. Showering me with spinster gifts covered in cats and crochet.” Phil cringes sympathetically. “How was yours?”

“Good. Actually, better than that.” He beckons Sharon over. “I have some pictures. Everyone loved Clint. Kids started calling him Uncle Clint by the end of the visit.”

“That’s disgusting. And adorable,” says Sharon. She peers over his shoulder at the slideshow. “So many children. How do you keep track of them?”

“Pick favorites,” Phil says. “We’re both fond of Gracie.” He points to the picture of Clint holding the baby.

“Is he actually asleep?” Sharon drops her voice.

“Probably not.”

“Well, I’ll say it anyway. Those arms holding that kid? You should probably propose before his next suicide mission.”

“Thanks, Carter,” says Clint, his voice muffled slightly by the fabric of the couch.

“Anytime, Barton,” she says. “Were they mad you didn’t stay for New Year’s?”

“No, I think they get it. We were there for five and a half days. That’s not an insignificant amount of time.”

“Your brother’s pretty hot. That is your brother, right?”

“It is, and don’t say that.”

“What? I’m single. I’m allowed.” Her cheeks redden slightly as she adds, “Though I am going out tomorrow night.”

“What? Are you seriously having a first date on New Year’s?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sharon says. “But he’s just been asking so much for so long, I figured I’d cut him a break, and I’ll probably get some good food out of it, right?”

“Finally giving Pollack a chance?” asks Phil. “That’s charitable of you.”

“Pollack’s hot,” Clint volunteers from the couch. “He’s no Phil, but he’s got a B+ face and an A- body.” He turns over to face them. “Phil’s got full marks on both, but not everyone can be perfect.”

“Was there something you needed pertaining to work in some way?” Phil asks Sharon. “Or is this purely a social call?”

“Oh, I was sent to tell you that Fury wants everyone to cut out early today—like, now—and not come in tomorrow,” she says. “He says it’ll incentivize coming in on January 2. It’s a bold strategy. Of which I intend to take full advantage.”

“You’re going to watch modern adaptations of Shakespeare plays and drink cheap wine, aren’t you?”

“You’re damn right I am. You two want to come over? I already have Maria on the hook.”

“I think we’re going to have to pass,” says Phil. “I owe Clint a _Die Hard_ marathon.”

“Marathon?” Clint raises his eyebrows at Phil. “Aren’t we just watching the first one then—oh. Right. Marathon. Yup. That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

Sharon rolls her eyes and heads for the door. “Enjoy that.”

“We will,” Clint says gleefully. Phil shakes his head at Clint as he powers down his laptop. Any remaining emails—and there are something like 35—can wait until three days from now.

“You know Sharon’s the only person you’re allowed to be a total ass in front of regarding our relationship, right?”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” says Clint. “And because of that, I’m going to be. To the best of my ability.”

“Your prowess is truly staggering,” Phil says. “Too early for dinner?”

“Never too early for dinner,” says Clint. And because it’s a holiday—kind of, not really—they take a cab to Phil’s. Within minutes, their food arrives and they’re getting caught up on _Lost_. Or, rather, Phil’s getting caught up on _Lost_. Clint’s seen every episode and he’s dying to spoil them for Phil, so Phil’s trying desperately to prevent that. However, since Clint seems to be doing his best to bruise every part of Phil’s neck right now, his efforts aren’t going very far.

“Before you—” Phil manages. He interrupts himself with a moan, and Clint unfastens his mouth from Phil’s throat long enough to chuckle before going right back to it. “Before you, I hadn’t had a hickey since college.”

“Mmm.” Clint changes his strategy, opting to bite downward till he reaches Phil’s collarbone. He tugs at the hem of Phil’s t-shirt (faux holidays call for pajamas), and Phil lifts his arms so Clint can take it off.

“Seems unfair that you would keep yours on when mine’s off,” says Phil, and Clint grins and pulls his shirt over his head. His musculature remains nothing short of glorious, and Phil takes a moment to appreciate that he gets this—all of this, though not quite yet, he supposes—before Clint’s attacking his collarbones again.

Phil turns off the TV and faces Clint fully, looping his arms around Clint’s waist and pulling him so they’re chest to chest. Clint moans—quietly, throatily—and kisses Phil on the mouth, tongue running along Phil’s teeth till Phil’s tongue chases it away and back into Clint’s mouth so he can do the same.

“I want you,” Phil says under his breath when he gets the chance. Clint pulls back slightly and blinks.

“Phil,” he says. “You have me.”

“No, I—”

“I know,” says Clint, and he’s panting as he starts to ask, “It’s not too—”

“Clint. We’re adults. We want this. I’m prepared for it. Let’s—I want all of you.”

“Yeah?” Clint’s smiling, and it’s somehow sweet and sexy and full of filthy promise all at once.

“Yeah.” Phil stands and pulls Clint to the bedroom.

.:.

“So I’m not going to say best half hour of my life—”

Phil laughs. “I’m insulted.” It comes out weaker than expected, but borderline acrobatic sex will do that to you, he supposes.

“I’m not going to, but I really want to, because I can’t remember anything better,” says Clint, rolling over so he’s half on top of Phil, drawing patterns onto Phil’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “Man. I can’t believe how much I liked you before we did that.”

“I had to know you weren’t in it for the mind-blowing sex,” Phil says. “Which, by the way, you account for 50 percent of, so thanks for that.”

“Thanks? That’s all you can say?” Clint snorts. “Pathetic.”

“I can’t think of anything better right now,” says Phil. “You killed me.”

“Just as long as I can kill you again tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there,” Phil promises, sealing it with a kiss. It’s sloppy and oddly timed and they’re laughing through it, so he gets more of Clint’s chin than mouth, but Phil’s not sure he’d have it any other way.


	9. Barney

“Barney,” Clint says one Saturday morning. Actually, Phil realizes as he glances at the clock on his nightstand, it’s afternoon. In the pre-Clint era, Phil was physically incapable of sleeping past 9:30 on his rare weekends off. Now that he’s pushing for more free Saturdays and Sundays, opting to spend time with Clint rather than mission reports and previously ignored emails, he’s getting pretty good at it, as evidenced by their still being in bed at 12:05.

“Hm?” Phil looks over his glasses at Clint, who puts down the issue of _Premiere_ he’s been paging through. He carefully dog-ears the page of _The New Yorker_ where he’s left off and puts it aside on the nightstand.

“My brother’s name is Barney,” says Clint. “And I haven’t seen him in six years.”

Phil waits for Clint to continue. The pieces of Clint’s past that are still missing from Phil’s knowledge aren’t coming as quickly as they had been initially. In the first few weeks of their relationship, Phil heard about the orphanage, the circus, the period of trying to be what Clint called “a roughly functioning member of society,” and the stage he’d been in when they met—the merc days, Clint had dubbed them. It tapered off over time, but there was something—maybe someone—missing from the stories four months on. And Phil’s pretty sure Barney is that someone.

“I’ve kind of...” Clint hesitates. He slumps against Phil, and Phil gently pushes him forward so he can slip an arm around his shoulders. Clint leans his head on Phil’s shoulder and continues. “It’s really—I don’t talk about him. You probably noticed. But I thought I should. It’s—it’s the only part you don’t really know. And I want you to. I think it might help you understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Me,” Clint says simply. Phil nods and takes out his phone.

“I’m going to call the burger joint down the street, order us some food so you don’t have to leave the bed while we’re talking,” he says. “Does that sound good to you?” Clint nods, and Phil places their order, quick and efficient, before sitting back up against his pillow and extending his arm. Clint curls up in it and starts his story.

“So, Barney,” he says. “He’s a few years older than I am. He was sorta my extremely unqualified guardian after my parents died. I mean, we were at the orphanage, but it wasn’t the workers looking out for me, it was him.”

“Extremely unqualified?”

“Well, he was 11, you know?” Clint nuzzles into Phil’s neck. His next words are muffled. “You can’t push that responsibility on a kid and expect them to do really well with it.”

“So it was better that you have him than not.”

Clint looks up at Phil before leaning his head back against Phil’s shoulder. “Yeah. He was good at keeping me out of stupid shit. At least, till Carson’s came to town. And we did OK with that for a while.” Clint smiles faintly. “I loved it sometimes. You know that now. Sure, the guys running the show were assholes, but I got to learn how to shoot and throw knives and ride horses, and I got to show off for crowds who went crazy for me. What teenager wouldn’t love that?”

“I don’t know that I would’ve,” says Phil, and Clint chuckles. “But I see your point.”

“Anyway,” Clint says. “Barney. He was jealous of the attention, for sure. And he started being ... not the same to me. He ignored me a lot, even when Trick Shot was, well, being Trick Shot. It sucked. I had a couple allies, I guess—the contortionist, Alana, she’d give me tea and rub my back till I fell asleep in her trailer after I’d been slapped around a bit.”

“You’ve mentioned her,” says Phil. “Sometimes, it sounds like you wouldn’t mind seeing a few of these people again.”

“No, but then I run the risk of seeing the others, and I definitely don’t want that,” Clint says. “Anyway, Barney didn’t really know how bad it had gotten. He didn’t know I’d—yeah, he didn’t know about the Swordsman and the planned attack and everything.” Clint sighs deeply. “At least, that’s what he said when I ran into him again. It was something like eight years after I’d left.”

“How did that happen?”

“No coincidence,” says Clint. “He tracked me down. He was involved with some shady stuff. Not surprising. I was in West Virginia at the time.”

“Lots of mercenary operations going on in West Virginia, then?” Phil can’t help asking.

“Asshole,” Clint says fondly. “I was lying low. So he got to me, and he tried to get me tied up in some stuff—that stuff’s not actually very interesting, lots of petty theft that was way riskier than he thought—but I said no. Hard to trust someone sometimes, you know?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Anyway, after that, I kind of ... severed ties. Told him I didn’t want any part of his shit. He told me that what I was doing wasn’t any better, and it’s the first time he was right in a really long time.” Clint takes a deep breath and says, “That’s when I made rules about who I’d take down, whether I’d take them down permanently. It was only the bad guys. The guys—and women, I was an equal-opportunity mercenary—who deserved what they got.”

“SHIELD noticed,” says Phil. “It’s one of the reasons you were recruited. There were no kills on your record that we wouldn’t have made.”

“How long did you follow me without catching me?” Clint asks.

“Classified.”

“No, seriously, I want to know.”

“No, seriously, classified.”

“I will tickle you,” says Clint.

“You don’t even know where I’m ticklish,” Phil says. Then, “Oh, shit.”

“But I do know you’re ticklish now, and I will find those spots, and I will get at them,” says Clint gleefully.

“I should know to never let my defenses down around you,” Phil says, sighing. “I should probably put on pants, huh? Delivery guy and everything.”

“You’d only be doing him a favor if you didn’t,” says Clint. “But yeah, pants. And a shirt. I guess. Which you can take off again when he’s gone.”

Clint leans forward so Phil can stand up. Phil leans down to kiss him before he goes. “I’m glad... Well, you already know, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” says Clint. “But it’s OK to say it.”

“Then I’m glad you’re comfortable telling me about your brother,” Phil says. “We don’t have to talk about him anymore, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Yeah, most likely. Maybe sometimes.” Clint kisses him again. “Now, go get dressed already. You’re mine to ogle and nobody else’s.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” says Phil. “Oh, and happy four months.”

“I can’t believe you got to say it first,” Clint groans. “Happy four months. Delivery twice in one day, you think?”

“I’d say we’ve earned it,” says Phil. “Oh, hey.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Clint smiles and shakes his head. “I love you, too, Phil,” he says. “We established that a while ago. On our third date, I think. Now go put some jeans on. You know I like your ass in jeans.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that once or twice.”

After the food arrives and they’re camped out in the living room, both reluctantly clothed and watching _America’s Next Top Model_ less reluctantly. Phil still hasn’t quite forgiven Clint for introducing him to this undeniably terrible, wildly addictive show.

“Hey,” Clint says to him in the midst of some sort of tantrum appearing onscreen.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” He nuzzles against Phil’s neck and kisses him there, soft and sweet. “For, you know.”

“I know,” says Phil, kissing the top of Clint’s head, now resting comfortably against Phil’s shoulder. “You’re welcome. You always will be.”

“Sap,” Clint says.

“You love it.”

“Yeah. I do. Just don’t tell anyone, OK?”

“Secret’s safe with me,” says Phil, and they focus again on the 12 young women smiling with their eyes at Tyra Banks.


	10. Pizza, Samurai, Cake & Booze

It’s innocent enough, if extremely embarrassing, the first time marriage comes up. Phil and Clint are sitting together on Phil’s couch—now Clint’s, too, if Phil’s honest, because Clint was living in the SHIELD dorms (“apartments” being too generous a descriptor) before, and now essentially everything he owns is here, and it’s not like he’s not coming home with Phil every night—and they’re Skyping with Beth. Every now and then, Tom or one of the kids ducks in, contributes something small to the conversation, and runs away again. Right now, it’s Amy’s turn, which seems to happen a lot.

“When are you coming to see me?” she asks. They’d done just that only weeks before—Beth and Tom live in Union City, only about 45 minutes away from Phil’s place, so it seemed ridiculous not to visit once in a while for whatever reason. That time, it had been Sarah’s birthday.

“Well, I heard someone’s turning eight next month,” says Clint, tapping the side of his head as if in deep thought. “I wonder who that was. Andy, maybe?”

“It’s both of us!” Amy says, indignant as a seven-year-old can be. “We’re both turning eight! Will you be here for my birthday? Uncle Dave and Aunt Rachel aren’t coming, since they live in stupid California.”

“California’s not stupid, Amy,” says Beth. “Just far away.” She mouths “Kind of stupid, though” over Amy’s head, and Phil holds back a laugh.

“Yes, we’ll be there, Amy.” Phil glances at Clint. “Maybe Uncle Clint can even bake you a cake.”

“Uncle Clint bakes cakes?” Amy shrieks. “Bake me a cake!” Beth elbows Amy. “Please.”

“We’ll see how things go,” says Clint. “We can’t wait to see you, Amy. And Andy. And everyone.”

“Are you guys married yet?” Amy asks, apropos of nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Phil sees Clint go slightly pale. Beth looks mortified, and Phil can’t help laughing.

“No, Amy, not yet.”

“But why?” she whines.

“Amy, you can’t ask someone why they’re not married,” Beth says, and Phil can tell she wants to laugh, too, but this is a teaching moment and she can’t risk that. “It’s private.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” says Amy. “But a wedding would be a really good party, right?”

By now, Clint’s chuckling a little, too. “Yeah. A great party. Maybe someday, OK?”

“Can I be in it?”

“We’ll see, kiddo,” says Clint. “For now, though, I think Uncle Phil and I have to go. We’re supposed to meet our friend Natasha for her birthday.”

“Tell her I said happy birthday,” Amy says emphatically. “And that I’m your favorite niece.”

“You’re at least tied for first with three others,” says Clint, solemn. “Bye, Amy. Bye, Beth.”

“Bye, guys,” Beth says. “And, uh, sorry.”

Phil waves his hand dismissively. “Not a problem. We’ll talk to you soon. And see you next month.” He clicks the End Call button.

“Yeah, Uncle Phil,” says Clint. “Why aren’t we married?” He’s teasing, thank God, and Phil knows.

“Gee, I don’t know, Uncle Clint,” he says. “Maybe because we’ve been together nine months?” He turns to Clint and nuzzles against Clint’s neck, nipping at his ear as he goes.

“You’re distracting,” Clint says, and Phil thinks he’s trying to whine and failing miserably. “I’m trying to have a serious discussion prompted by your seven-year-old niece.”

“Yours, too,” Phil reminds him before making his way down to Clint’s neck. “Why are you wearing a shirt, by the way? It’s Saturday. You don’t wear shirts on Saturday.”

“We were talking to your sister literally two minutes ago,” says Clint with a happy humming noise. Phil’s got his head on Clint’s shoulder and his arm along Clint’s waist, and he’s taking a break from the kissing to just enjoy this—cuddling, holding, reminding himself of what he has. “And I have it on good authority that your sister thinks I’m hot. So I don’t want to—what is it that their pastor was talking about during that really awkward sermon last time we visited? Cause her to stumble. I don’t want to cause Beth to stumble.”

“That _was_ awkward,” says Phil. “And I never should’ve told Sharon my sister thought you were hot. I should know by now to never tell Sharon anything.”

“She’s your best non-Fury friend,” Clint points out. “You should maybe tell her some things sometimes.”

“Speaking of best friends,” says Phil. “Natasha’s birthday, huh?”

“She won’t tell me her real birthday,” Clint says. “So I told her it’s this weekend, and I’m baking her a cake, and we’re getting drunk and eating pizza and watching _Seven Samurai_.”

“That sounds weirdly perfect,” says Phil. “So am I kicked out of my own kitchen for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Hey, it’s ours now, Uncle Phil.”

“Please quit calling me that.”

“Fine, dearest,” says Clint, hopping off the couch and ignoring Phil’s swat across his ass. “That was my way of saying I moved in with you without you ever noticing, by the way.”

“Yes, you were very sneaky,” Phil says. “The way all your stuff gradually traveled from SHIELD to here.”

“You made me a key after being together for less than a month,” Clint points out, rummaging through the cupboards. He pulls out a mixing bowl, a wooden spoon, and a hand mixer before going to the fridge. “What was I supposed to take from that? That you didn’t want me here?” He looks over his shoulder. There’s a trace of worry in his expression. “You do want me here, right?”

Phil stands and walks over to the kitchen, looping his arms around Clint’s waist from behind. Leaning his chin on Clint’s shoulder, he says, “Of course I want you here, Clint. I can’t think of a better roommate.”

“You mean I bested Gracie?”

Phil cringes. “Yeah, you’ve got a lock on that.” Last time they’d visited James and Emily, Phil and Clint ended up staying the night in Gracie’s room. That’s how they found out that Gracie kept a very erratic schedule of crying fits and 20-minute sleeps throughout the night.

“I love Gracie,” says Clint, pulling a carton of eggs and a half-gallon of milk out of the fridge. “Back up three steps, K?” Phil complies and continues following Clint around the kitchen, arms still encircling Clint’s waist. “I love her,” Clint continues. “But she made me think I’m maybe not going to be ready for kids for a while. If ever.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seriously considered it,” says Phil. “Not while I’m still working for SHIELD. It just seems too risky.”

“Do any active field agents have kids?”

“Yeah, Jimmy Woo and his wife have one,” Phil says. “But Woo’s not in the field too much. And Nick’s kind of a softie about agents with kids. He doesn’t send them on life-threatening missions if he can avoid it.”

“You tell me too much about Fury,” says Clint, pulling a bag of flour out of the cupboard and using it to dust Phil’s nose. “You’re ruining my image of him as badass, invincible pirate.”

“What was that for?”

“I’m going to get super messy over here,” Clint says. “Just want you to get a bit of it, too.”

“I’ll get out of here before you can mess me up further,” says Phil, brushing a kiss against Clint’s neck as he goes.

“You sure you don’t want to help?”

“How do I do that?”

Clint gently pushes him toward the kitchen island and hands him a pan and some nonstick spray. “Grease that up. Tell me what kind of frosting you think Natasha likes.”

“I don’t think Natasha likes anything as whimsical as frosting,” Phil says. “I think Natasha likes garrotes and bolas and snips and snails and puppy dog tails.”

“Natasha is a little boy and a ninja?”

“In my mind, apparently, yes,” says Phil. “I don’t understand how you’ve gotten to know her so well when you’re over here every night.”

“We have lunch and sometimes dinner when you’re busy,” Clint says. “She tells me stories about Russia, and I tell her some stuff about the circus, but not everything. That’s just you.” Phil turns and leans against the island to look at Clint bustling around the counter, measuring out flour and sugar. “Mostly, though, we talk about missions. Who our perfect roster would be. What baby agents are good for. That sort of thing.” Both Clint and Natasha are specialists now—marksman and espionage agent, respectively. Phil never doubted he should be with Clint after that first day in Scotland, but it was a bit of a relief, dating someone without “junior” in their title.

“It’s gonna get loud in a second,” Clint warns Phil as he cracks a few eggs into the bowl and stirs the mixture together with a spoon. “You want to use the hand mixer? That’s easy. And messy. And fun.”

“I’m sure you’re quite able to do it on your own.”

“Yeah, but then you don’t get enough stains on your shirt to take it off.”

“You didn’t take yours off when I not-so-subtly hinted you should.”

“That’s what that was?” Clint shakes his head and plugs in the mixer. “You really have to work on your subtle flirting game, Phil.” Phil doesn’t have time to snark back before the mixer is whirring. About two minutes later, Clint’s pouring mix into the pan and Natasha’s just walked through the door.

“How did you—” Phil begins asking, then he remembers. Espionage. Right.

“You’re just lucky I didn’t need a blood sample,” she says. “I come bearing booze.”

“Happy unbirthday, Nat,” says Clint. “Your cake’s in the oven.”

“I refuse to call this my unbirthday on principle.”

“I will join you in your refusal,” Phil says.

“You’re both no fun. None at all.”

“You didn’t invite anyone else, did you?” Natasha asks Clint.

“No,” he says. “I hesitated to invite Phil, since he isn’t your favorite or anything.”

“Then he realized he moved into my apartment without telling me,” says Phil. “Also, if I’m not Natasha’s favorite handler, I’m going to be seriously hurt.”

“You are,” she assures him. “Sitwell doesn’t understand the term ‘radio silence,’ Woo is dreadfully boring, and May—OK, May is acceptable, maybe even good, but she doesn’t make my friend stupidly happy.”

Phil fights off a smile that promises to be ridiculously wide if allowed on his face. “Some people think I’m boring.”

“Some people are idiots.” Natasha puts a couple sizable bottles of liquor on the kitchen island and hops up onto the island next to it. “What’s the plan?”

“Pizza, _Seven Samurai_ , cake, drunkenness,” says Clint. “And whatever your heart desires.”

“My heart desires all four of those things, though not necessarily in that order,” Natasha says. “I get to decide what’s on the pizza, right?”

“Well, it’s your unbirthday,” says Clint. “Of course you do.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Luigi’s?”

Phil nods. “The best. Sometimes I wonder where you get your knowledge of hyper-specific stuff like best thin crust in Park Slope.”

“I have my ways,” she says, smirking as she pulls out her phone to place the order.

“We should make gin & tonics,” says Clint, dropping his voice so Natasha can charm her way to a timely delivery. Luigi’s can be tricky. “Wait. Do we even have tonic?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and reaches into her purse, producing a fizzy bottle.

“She’s not supposed to be doing all the work on her special day,” Clint complains to Phil.

“We have some, anyway,” says Phil. “I know how you like to feel fancy with your gin & tonics.”

“You’re going to make me sound stupid in front of the unbirthday girl.”

“You’re doing a fine job of that yourself,” says Natasha, flipping her phone closed. “Shall we have some drinks and watch some Kurosawa?”

“Personally, I’d like nothing more,” Phil says.

“If that’s what my boyfriend and my favorite assassin want, then it’s what I want, too,” Clint says faux seriously. “As long as neither of you are mean to me when I have to get the cake out of the oven.”

“Since when am I mean to you?” asks Phil.

“I have no defense,” Natasha says with a sigh. “Ice cubes?”

“In the freezer,” says Phil.

“Do you each want one?”

“You’re not supposed to be serving us!”

“I get it, Clint. It’s my special day.” Natasha can’t seem to get the words out without rolling her eyes. “But you’re terrible at mixing drinks, and Phil clearly wants to cuddle with you on the couch for a few precious seconds before he fakes propriety during the movie. Which, by the way, you don’t have to, Phil.”

“Duly noted,” says Phil. “Join us in a minute, then.”

Natasha salutes Phil, and he shakes his head as he pulls Clint to the couch.

“I’ve never seen this movie,” Clint says as he lies down with his head in Phil’s lap. “Any good?”

“Yes,” says Phil. “Widely considered to be one of the best films ever made.”

“Huh.”

Phil runs his fingers through Clint’s hair, making it stick up even more than usual. “It’s three and a half hours long.”

“Oh, God. We better take, like, six breaks.”

“With pizza and cake and booze all on the way? I’m sure we will.”

“Best boyfriend. Best ninja friend,” Clint says fondly as Natasha puts down their drinks. After retrieving her own, she snaps her fingers at Clint’s feet, and he lifts his legs so she can sit before draping them over her lap.

“You’re lucky I like you, Barton,” says Natasha. “And your boyfriend’s couch.”

“Our couch,” Clint corrects her, and this time, Phil allows his smile to get ridiculously wide.


	11. Something to Be Said for Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't a lot of Clint in this chapter. But when he's there, he's very Clint-like.

It’s a lot less innocent and somewhat less embarrassing the second time marriage comes up. It’s not as embarrassing since Clint’s not even there to hear it. But because Sharon is involved, there’s nothing innocent about it.

She doesn’t bother knocking when she walks into Phil’s office. He can’t really blame her since the door was open, but that was more for Clint’s sake than hers.

“Sorry I’m not your boyfriend,” Sharon says, dropping a glossy gold envelope on Phil’s desk.

“What’s this?” asks Phil. He picks up the envelope. It’s addressed to Phillip J. Coulson & Clinton F. Barton. “And why aren’t you giving it to Clint?”

“I figured you were the one in the relationship who handled scheduling.”

“It’s about an even split.” Phil opens the envelope. An abundance of glitter pours out over his desk. He can only imagine the horrified look on his face as Sharon cracks up.

“Oh, like you had the foresight to open it over a trashcan,” he says, using the envelope to brush the glitter off his desk and into his own trashcan. He picks up the paper that came out along with the glitter.

“She’s marrying Sitwell already?” Phil squints down at the invitation. It’s cordially requesting his and Clint’s presence at Maria Lorraine Hill and Jasper Alan Sitwell’s wedding on January 14. “How long have they been together?”

“Shorter than you and Clint,” Sharon says. “You’ve been with him ten months, right?”

“Yeah, thereabouts. More like 11, actually. And they started dating—”

“He asked her out on Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, God,” says Phil. “He proposed in nine months?”

“No, he had to have proposed in less than that. Unless one of them had already printed these up when he asked.”

“How on earth did they get a venue with such short notice?”

“How on earth are you asking questions about wedding venues?” Sharon’s eyes widen. “You’re not going to propose to Clint, are you? I mean, for one thing, you can’t even do that legally.”

“No, no, I’m not doing that,” says Phil. “But my brother and my sister are both married.”

“Right. Your sister to someone less hot than Clint.” Sharon nods. Phil groans.

“Never talking to you ever again.”

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re talking right now,” she says. “Why aren’t you proposing to Clint?”

“Well, you mentioned the most obvious reason,” says Phil. “And ... I don’t know, aren’t you prying a bit?”

“That’s what friends are for,” Sharon says. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t, Phil. You love Clint. Clint’s great for you. And I don’t think you’re going to break things off with him anytime soon, so why not just make it permanent? It doesn’t have to be official. Just, you know. Partnership or whatever.”

“I...” Phil runs a hand over his hair. For Clint, that’d be a hint to drop the subject, and Clint typically understands when he needs to leave a topic for later. But hints don’t really work on Sharon.

“You what?”

“I just don’t really see a need, Sharon.”

“Oh, come on. You know Clint would love the stability.” Over time, Clint’s been a bit more open about his upbringing; Phil still knows more than anyone else Clint’s confided in, but Sharon’s been privy to a fair amount of information.

“We’re already living together, and we’ve been in an exclusive relationship for nearly a year,” says Phil. “It just doesn’t seem particularly necessary.”

“Something doesn’t have to be necessary for you to do it, Phil,” she says. Her tone is uncharacteristically gentle as she leans slightly against Phil’s desk. “It probably wasn’t necessary for you and Clint to start dating in the first place. But I’ve never seen you happier or more settled. It wouldn’t hurt to make that permanent.”

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

“Will you actually?”

Phil sighs and backs up his chair slightly so he can pull out the drawer beneath his keyboard. He retrieves a small velvet box—purple, that had been hard to find—and holds it up so Sharon can see it.

“Speechless for once, huh?” he asks after she’s been staring at Phil’s hand, goggle-eyed, for a solid thirty seconds. “I said I didn’t see the need. I never said I didn’t want to.” Sharon’s shaking her head now, smiling. “There’s something to be said for waiting till the opportune moment.” Knowing Clint could show up any second, and probably will, Phil carefully hides the box away again. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”

“Why didn’t you want to talk about this, Phil? If you already have that.”

“Because it’s not something I want to talk about at work.”

“I hardly ever see you outside work. When else are we going to talk about it?”

“Have you been planning on asking me about this?”

“Maybe.” Sharon pauses, then adds, “Yes. Because someone has to, and your parents aren’t going to, and you don’t talk to your sister enough.”

“I talk to my sister plenty,” says Phil. “We were just at her place last month for Amy’s birthday.”

“And we’re supposed to be there on Thanksgiving, though Phil’s mom is still pissed about that,” Clint says, walking through the door and over to the desk. “Hi, Sharon. She bothering you, Phil? Because I can take care of her, if you want.” He leans down to kiss Phil on the cheek.

“Like you even could, Barton,” Sharon says, smirking and turning to go. “Maybe we could have coffee sometime, Phil?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Are you hitting on him?” asks Clint. “Is she hitting on you?”

“I hope not,” says Phil. “Then I’d have to get HR involved.”

“I hate both of you,” Sharon calls back to them.

Clint grins at Phil before flopping down onto the couch. “She’s a good friend. What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing of immediate importance,” says Phil. “Where were you? I emailed you a few hours ago. I needed a distraction.”

“Aw, and you wanted it to be me? You’re sweet.”

“Glad you think so.”

“I was on the range,” Clint says. “Since I’m going to Budapest tomorrow. I really wish this was your mission, and they’d held off till next month so we could celebrate our anniversary where we met.” Though Phil’s still Clint’s default handler, Sitwell needs a marksman this time around, and Ward’s out with conjunctivitis. Phil’s eye itches just thinking about it.

“Yes, our first meeting was very romantic,” says Phil. “You looked incredible with your face bruised in the same pattern as the grate you were lying on.”

“See, that’s not fair, because I can’t even make fun of how you looked then,” Clint says.

“You couldn’t have possibly found me attractive.”

“Classified.” Clint looks down, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Wait, really? That early?”

“What can I say? I like a guy in a well-cut suit,” says Clint.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I wasn’t joking when I said you looked incredible,” Phil says. “Considering the circumstances, you were still pretty hot. You’ve always been that.”

“You should’ve told me that sooner, Phil. They’re could’ve been more sex.”

“If you’re going to shout out the word ‘sex,’ could you at least close the door?”

“I’m not shouting.” Clint pouts. “How long are we staying tonight?”

“Tonight?” Phil echoes. “Is it already—” He looks at the clock. “Oh. So it is. We can go. Unlike you, I don’t have anything important to do this week.”

“Aren’t you going to Quito tomorrow with Nat?”

“It’s an observation mission.” Phil turns off his computer and stands. Clint follows suit, taking his coat off Phil’s coatrack and shrugging it on before handing Phil’s to him.

“Then why does Nat have to go?”

“Fury said I could take whoever I wanted, and you were busy.”

“Does Nat know she’s second rate?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s fully aware.” Phil reaches for Clint’s hand. Clint interlaces their fingers and smiles. They don’t touch much at SHIELD, but it’s late and the only person who sees them happens to be Sitwell, who smirks and says, “Don’t stay up past your bedtime, Barton.” Clint salutes sloppily with his free hand.

“I’ll kill him if you get hurt,” Phil says when Sitwell’s out of earshot.

“Mmm,” says Clint. “I like it when you’re all protective. Gets me pretty hot and bothered.”

“I’m serious. And right before his wedding, too.”

“Wedding? There’s a wedding?”

“Oh, yeah, in January. We’re invited.”

“I’ve never been to a wedding,” Clint says. “I mean, it’s not like there’s a lot of that going on around orphanages and circuses and on mean city streets.”

“You make your story sound very poetic,” says Phil. “Not that it isn’t. Never?”

“Not once.”

“Well, I’ll show you how it’s done,” Phil says. “Attending weddings, that is. Intricate art. You should be glad you get to learn from a master.”

Clint drops his head against Phil’s shoulder. “Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re kind of ridiculous sometimes.”

Phil hums his agreement. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“True,” Clint agrees, and he kisses Phil on the cheek as they descend the stairs to the subway station.


	12. The Opportune Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just gave myself a toothache, guys.

The third time marriage comes up is something else entirely.

It’s a year to the day since Phil and Clint first got together. They’re in Central Park, where they had their first date in New York, walking off a substantial dinner at Phil’s favorite Japanese restaurant (now Clint’s, too, he supposes, not that Clint really had one before). Clint’s nursing a broken wrist and lovingly complaining about the baby agents he’s training in marksmanship in lieu of doing field work till his arm’s fully operational again, and Phil’s listening, laughing when he’s supposed to, making noises of agreement when the need arises. His mind’s not all there, though. It’s largely on what’s in the pocket of his coat and the phrase “the opportune moment.”

“Shea, though, she’s really good,” Clint says. “As good with a gun as James is useless with a bow.”

Phil is just engaged enough to say, “You know being skilled with a bow isn’t something most people consider a requirement as a SHIELD agent, right?”

“Yeah, but what if you don’t have access to a gun, but you do have the right raw materials to fashion a bow?”

“What about arrows?”

“Emergency quiver,” says Clint, leaning into Phil, who laughs. “Keep one on you at all times, under any circumstances. It’s what I do.”

“Oh, really? You have one of those with you right now?”

“No, but I have you.” He nuzzles against Phil’s neck. There aren’t many others around—it’s freezing and it’s after 8pm on a random Wednesday in December—but Phil’s not sure he would mind if there were. “That’s more than enough protection for me.”

“I’m glad you’ve decided to trust me,” says Phil lightly, though he’s well aware there’s a lot of heft to that sentiment. He squeezes Clint’s hand, and Clint squeezes back before kissing him.

“You know we’re very much in public, right?” Phil asks against Clint’s lips.

“I know and I don’t think I could give less of a fuck,” says Clint, kissing him again. It’s soft, short and sweet, but his cheeks are still even redder—always red from the cold, always kind of disgustingly adorable, really—when he pulls away, and it’s all just so _Clint_ , his Clint, the Clint no one else gets to see, that Phil decides there’s no time like the present and tugs Clint over toward the shade of a snow-dusted tree.

“I’m going to do this right, OK?”

Clint looks at him, clearly confused. “OK?”

Phil drops down to one knee and pulls the box, the same one he’d shown Sharon a month before, out of his pocket. “Clint,” he begins.

“Yes,” says Clint, and Phil can’t help his relieved laugh.

“Give me a second, OK? That’s not all I was going to say.”

“I know. Just wanted to boost your confidence. And, you know. Yes.”

“Clint,” says Phil. “I’ve never been happier or more content than when I’m with you. If you feel the same way—and I’m fairly certain you do—”

“Correct, sir.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “You’re really ruining my moment.”

“No, I’m making it uniquely Clint and Phil-like.”

Phil pauses. “You know it’s Phil and Clint, right? Not the other way around.”

“Semantics,” says Clint. “Go on. Tell me how great I am.”

“Oh. I was just going to say, marry me? Not legally, since that’s probably a few years off, but we can have a wedding. James and Emily offered their backyard.” Phil’s brother lives on a huge plot of land in Walden upstate with enough room for stables and horses, of which the family takes full advantage. After their first visit, Clint complained to Phil about living in the city all the way home.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint says. “I think I can pencil that in. When? Now? We could do it now. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kind of in love with you.”

“Kind of, huh? Can I stand up now?”

“Yes. And fine. Completely. I’m completely in love with you.” Phil stands. Clint kisses him, this time not so quickly, and it’s just as good as the first. Well, better, probably, considering how sloppy that had been.

“Want your ring?” Phil asks when he catches his breath.

“Yeah.” Phil opens the box (“Purple! How’d you even find that?”) and takes out Clint’s ring, sliding it onto his extended finger. It’s not particularly flashy—just a platinum band with a pattern that looks a bit like the fletching of an arrow—but Clint grins widely when he sees it and kisses Phil again.

“Hey, if we keep doing that now, we won’t have time to catch a carriage,” says Phil.

“We’re going on a carriage ride? You are a man who knows how to treat his fiancé, Phil Coulson.”

“Usually,” Phil says. “I usually know how to treat my fiancé. I shouldn’t have let you go on that mission. At least, not without me. Then your wrist wouldn’t have gotten messed up.” They reach the edge of the park, where Phil waves down a carriage driver. The man greets them and indicates they should get in; they do as he tells them, and Clint snorts when the driver literally says “Yah!” to get the horses moving. Phil shakes his head and slips his arm across Clint’s shoulders, and Clint leans his head against Phil’s shoulder.

“So, one to ten,” says Phil. “How surprised were you?”

“Six,” Clint says. “I was starting to think you didn’t actually want to, you know, make things official. But I couldn’t really believe that. I mean, you talked about us getting a cat. A _cat_ , Phil.”

“What’s wrong with a cat?”

“Nothing’s wrong with a cat, it’s just so—it’s so permanent! A pet, really?”

“Well, it’s not like I was intending to kick you out of the apartment or anything,” says Phil. “Have you looked at the ASPCA website, by the way?”

“Yeah, I have a few favorites,” Clint says. “Shame we can’t get a tiger.”

“Yes, a true shame. But maybe an orange tabby. Would that be good enough?”

“It would have to be.” Clint turns his head slightly. “It’s snowing. How fucking picturesque are we?”

“Certainly picturesque enough for profanity,” says Phil. “Normally, I’d say there are children present, but there really aren’t, so I suppose you’re allowed to say whatever you want.” He drops his voice. “Provided you keep it relatively quiet if you’re going to be X-rated.”

“X-rated?” Clint laughs. “You’re really dorky sometimes, Phil.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Mostly hot, though.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. Not sure I buy it, but as long as you believe it, we’ll be OK.”

“I think we’re more than OK.” Clint inclines his head upward to brush his lips against Phil’s cheek. “I think we’re pretty much the best.”

“Yeah?” Phil kisses Clint on the crown of his head. “Don’t tell anyone. They’ll think you’re even cockier than they already do.”

“It works for me,” says Clint. “Works for me and you know it.”

“I do,” Phil says.

“You practicing?”

“How’d it sound?”

“Perfect,” Clint says.

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“That was pretty good, too.”

“Perfect?” Clint asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah. That.” Phil cuddles Clint closer. “Now, shut up and let’s bask in the moment for a bit, OK?”

“You got it.” Clint waits a beat. “Sir.”

Phil shakes his head and smiles.


	13. One Thing I've Never Known You to Be

_Six and Half Years Later (or Close Enough)_

“So, we don’t ever have to talk about this ever again, right?” asks Clint. He’s sitting in one of those horribly uncomfortable chairs in the med bay that Phil has to tolerate every time something terrible happens to Clint in the field (once every four months on average). For once, Phil’s the one in the hospital bed, and while he’s all for talking things out, open communication, that sort of thing, he nods emphatically.

“You died, you’re alive again, I was compromised, I’m not anymore, and we’ve got shit to work through, but we have all the time in the world.” Clint says it all in one breath and looks relieved when it’s over, and all Phil does is nod, because what else is there to say?

Well, he can think of a couple things.

“I love you,” he says, and he hates how weak his voice sounds, but it’ll take time to recover from the eight minutes when he lacked a certain livelihood. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

“I know that,” says Clint. “At least, intellectually. Like, my brain believes it. My heart—that sounds dumb, but it’s true—my heart really doesn’t get it yet. And I don’t know when it will.”

“That’s fine,” Phil says. “It’s fine, Clint. Like you said, all the time in the world.”

Clint smiles. It’s faint, but it’s there. “I love you, too. Probably going to be saying that an obnoxious number of times, fair warning.”

“That could never sound obnoxious to me.”

“You say that now.” Clint reaches out to grasp Phil’s hand. “It’s gonna be bad, Phil. Real bad.”

“As bad as your grammar?”

“Bastard,” Clint says affectionately.

“I won’t have that language here, boys,” says Tony Stark as he swaggers his way into the room. Not for the first time, either. Phil’s beginning to think that Stark’s a lot fonder of both him and Clint than he typically lets on. He’s also beginning to think that Stark’s not doing so well, judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the semi-forced nature of his smile. That’s not really Phil’s business, though. Maybe he’ll mention it to Pepper the next time she’s around. That’s been a few times as well. Only after you die for a few minutes do you realize just how popular you are, Phil supposes.

“He critiqued my grammar,” says Clint. “What would you have said to him?”

Stark cocks his head to the side. “Good point. Although politeness counts post-death, I think.”

“Haven’t you been in a relationship for, like, a billion years? There’s no politeness in love.”

“Truer words,” says Phil.

“Anyway,” Stark says. “Your relationship issues aside, I came to tell you that Selvig’s on his way over, and he’s feeling pretty guilty, so you may want to watch out for that.”

For a moment, Phil’s horrified at the prospect of seeing Selvig right now. He likes the man enough, but he can’t deal with pity, not right now. Then he looks at Clint.

“Ready for a jailbreak, my dear?” Clint’s grinning. That’s not always a good sign, but it’s a welcome one right now.

“Who’s on duty?” asks Phil.

“No one who’ll care,” Clint says. “Allen, who feels threatened by your knowledge of medicine. Jeffries, who’s scared of me. And Lane, who’s probably asleep.”

Phil nods. “Did you bring clothes?”

“I did,” says Natasha, slipping through the door like it’s a secret. “I even kept it on its hanger.”

“That’s one of my favorite suits,” Phil says.

“I know.” She nods. “Stark, get out. Phil doesn’t want you to see him undress.”

“But he wants you to?”

Natasha shrugs one shoulder as she passes the suit to Clint, who’s now standing. He carefully removes the pants from the hanger and hands them to Phil. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. We’re close.”

“We’re on the same team!” Stark protests, and Phil raises his eyebrows at him. “Kind of.”

“Well, then, I’m really jealous,” says Clint. “And possessive. Women, that doesn’t really matter.”

“I thought he was bisexual,” Stark says.

“More Clintsexual, really,” says Natasha, smirking. “I haven’t seen him look at tits or a nice ass in literally years.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Clint says to Phil. He helps Phil to his feet.

“I don’t understand why he’s jealous if you apparently don’t even look at other people.”

“Stark,” says Phil, and Stark raises his hands in the air in a gesture of dismissal.

“Fine. Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.”

“I doubt that,” Natasha says, and both Phil and Clint are chuckling as Stark exits the room. Phil suits up and spins around as soon as he’s dressed.

“Nice, right?” he asks.

“A little gaunt,” says Clint.

“Yeah, you’re going to need to fill out again,” Natasha says. “What’s it been, four days? What have they been feeding you?”

“Lots of tube-friendly food. And I resent the gaunt comment.”

“I never said I don’t find gaunt extremely attractive,” says Clint. “I do. Super hot, really. Planning on jumping you the second we get back to the Tower.”

“The Tower?”

“Oh. Yeah. About that,” Clint says. “Stark kinda... Well, we don’t have to move in full-time, and I don’t think we will, but you have a car right now, Nat, right?”

Natasha nods. “And it’s way easier to get to the Tower than Brooklyn from here.”

“You hate driving,” says Phil.

She nods again. “But I’ll put aside my hatred for your sake.”

The ride is harrowing, though Phil can’t remember a car ride through midtown that wasn’t. Within 12 terrifying minutes, they’re on a barely furnished but still extremely posh floor of Stark’s Tower, which they’re apparently calling Avengers Tower now. Phil will have to help them think of a better name later.

Clint slips his hand into Phil’s and says, “Here. I’ll show you our bedroom.”

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” says Natasha, smirking. “I’m one floor up if you want to watch a Kurosawa movie or get some dinner. Real dinner. Otherwise, I’m glad you’re alive, Phil.” She smiles faintly.

“One question for you before you go,” Phil says.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever actually seen me leer at someone who wasn’t Clint?”

“Definitely not,” she says. “But I don’t want to ruin your tough guy image.” Clint snorts a laugh as she enters the elevator.

“Those stay open an inordinately long amount of time,” says Phil.

“You know Stark can’t be bothered to remember everything he needs the first time he goes to leave,” Clint says. “I’m pretty sure that’s Jarvis’ doing.”

“Confirmed,” says Jarvis. “It’s nice to see you up and about, Agent Coulson.”

“Thanks,” Phil says, and while he supposes the whole AI thing is pretty cool, he still feels a bit off being polite to a disembodied voice. “Jarvis, could you lock down the floor?”

“Already done,” says Jarvis.

“You know I can’t actually jump you, right?” Clint asks. “Because I can’t. I was told that specifically. Well, it was phrased more like ‘You’ll need to resist your more amorous impulses when he’s out of the hospital, probably too early.’”

“Who said that?” Phil allows himself to be tugged into the bedroom. Clint flops down onto the bed, and Phil takes off his suit coat and lies next to him, turning on his side to look at Clint. Clint does the same, pulling one of Phil’s hands to his chest, running his hand over Phil’s wedding band. His doesn’t have arrows, just a thick laser-cut line around the middle, but Clint picked it out and Phil loves it anyway.

“Banner,” says Clint. “He’s the one who said that today was probably too early but not entirely too early. And he’s a doctor. So I believed him.”

“I’m sure that had nothing to do with you being annoyed that you were living alone.”

“Nothing at all. And I had him, anyway.” Phil gestures to the windowsill—padded, with what look to be temperature controls embedded in the fabric—where their cat, Chaplin, is sacked out.

“Oh, God,” says Phil. “You’ve actually moved in here, haven’t you? How long did that take, 20 minutes after the battle?”

“I only said I’d stay till you were ready to go back home,” Clint says, bending his head and pulling at Phil’s hand till it’s close enough to kiss, then doing so. “And four days is definitely too long to just leave him there on his own.”

“I’m sure he’d have all sorts of wild parties with his friends.”

“Right. Vomit all over, food spilled everywhere. A regular cat-tastrophe.”

“That was really terrible.”

“I know.” Clint smiles. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah,” says Phil. “This bed is ridiculous. I can’t imagine how much everything—just, wow.”

“He keeps telling me not to worry about it,” Clint says. “Stark, that is, not Chaplin. The windowsill thing was his idea. He seemed very excited about having a cat to make machinery for.”

“That’s ... kind of sweet, actually.”

“Right? You wouldn’t expect it, but he surprises you sometimes.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re friends with Tony Stark now,” says Phil. “I already have some giant holes in my body. I don’t think I can handle much more than this.”

“Are you already to the stage where we joke about this?” Clint runs one finger down Phil’s chest, feather-light, till his hand lands on Phil’s hip. “’Cause I gotta tell you, Phil, I don’t think I’m there yet.”

“Gallows humor, I guess,” Phil says. “But I can back off. For you.”

“That’d be good. Hey, I’m—”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Phil says firmly. “Nothing you did was your fault. If anything, you were fighting against it. You could’ve killed Nick. You didn’t. You could’ve killed Maria. You didn’t.”

“But there were others—”

“It wasn’t you, Clint.”

Clint nods. “OK. I’m—I’m trying to believe that, OK? And it’s gonna take a while. But I think I can get there. If you help me, I can get there.”

“You will,” says Phil.

“I love you, too,” Clint says. “When we were in Medical, I didn’t say it back. But I do. So much. OK?”

“More than OK,” says Phil, and he leans closer to Clint for a kiss. And another. And a third, for good measure, till Stark’s booming voice comes over the PA (Phil supposes there’s a different name for the system through which Jarvis’ and Stark’s voice come out, but he doesn’t know it).

“Attention, residents of Stark-now-Avengers Tower,” says Stark. “Dr. Banner has graciously made us a meal of his famed spaghetti and homemade meatballs, while Captain Rogers has assisted with the baking of garlic bread.”

“I didn’t bake anything,” says Captain Rogers, his voice muffled. “It’s just stuff I defrosted in—”

“And Barton baked a fucking cake,” Stark says, cutting him off. “There are at least four too many frosted smiley faces on it, but I have it on good authority that it will be delicious, and that’s what love does to you, I guess. Sickening. Anyway, dinner will commence in ten minutes.”

“The PA thing,” Phil says to Clint after kissing him one more time, appreciating the cool feel of Clint’s ring against his neck. “Normal?”

“It happens once in a while,” says Clint. “Really, though, we’re not moving in. We’re not going to do that. But it’s fine to stay once in a while, and we’ll need to break in this bed eventually.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Phil says. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“Phil Coulson,” says Clint, standing up and offering his hand to Phil, who gets to his feet and is promptly pulled into Clint’s arms—gently, but still with some force, precisely as much as he can handle, and Phil, as he’s never stopped doing, wonders what favors he did somewhere down the line to get this lucky. “I know you to be many things. Hot. Sexy. Devastatingly handsome. A snappy dresser. Really good at crossword puzzles.”

“Get to the point, Barton.”

“But one thing I’ve never known you to be is frail.” Clint brushes his lips against Phil’s. “That’s one thing I know you’re never going to be.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” says Phil. “But please, remind me to never stop doing it.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Clint says, and he takes Phil by the hand as they make their way to the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eee! It's over! I'm a little bummed to be finished writing this, actually. It was a lot of fun, and I hope you all enjoyed it.


End file.
